


So Fell Autumn Rain

by Kabal42



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Knows, Community: paperlegends, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Merlin Big Bang Challenge, Polyfidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the golden age. Albion is united under Arthur's rule, Queen Guinevere is pregnant and Merlin is as busy as usual. Everything is going according to both plan and prophecy, until an unexpected enemy starts a chain of events that no-one, not even Merlin, could foresee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been planned for a long time. That didn't make it any easier or faster to write, but I've wanted to get it out for years. It is definitely inspired by other Arthurian tales, some classic, others not so much. I'm very glad Paper Legends came along and gave me a reason to write it out.  
> I would like to dedicate this to my amazing betas **elfflame** and **lilithilien** , who both went above and beyond with this, and my wonderful, sweet cheerleader **gealach_ros**. Also, very importantly, to **greenclove**. We both struggled through this summer, but we made it and here it is. The result :-) Last, but not least I want to thank **the_muppet** for being an amazing mod and handling everything so well. I am utterly awed.  
>  Then there's only one thing left to say: I really hope you will like this, dear reader.
> 
> This fic us heavily influenced by Arthurian mythology and the idea of re-imagining the fall of Camelot in the Merlin universe.  
> [See bottom notes for more warnings.]

It was late spring and the sun was burning Merlin's neck. It brought out the best in the forest near Camelot where he was riding, though he was rushing and his mind preoccupied so he barely noticed the beauty around him. Camelot, as always, was showing her best side during summer days like this. Wild roses bloomed, and the grass grew thick under the trees, adding the scent of wet greens to that of moist earth already heavy in the woods.

He rounded the familiar bend in the road and saw the first glimpse of the white towers of Camelot’s castle. The sight was enough to bring a smile to his face, despite his hurry and the reason for it. Soon he would be there, the closest thing to a home he had, and seeing his friends would soothe his worry just as his own presence would soothe Arthur once he heard the news. Which was why Merlin insisted on bringing it himself rather than let one of his extensive network of messengers and spies deliver news to the king as was more customary.

He usually preferred to be unseen or only seen by a few, like a rumour or ghost, adding to the mystery that so effectively surrounded his name; he had many ways of ensuring that and at least as many paths into the town and castle. But on this day it was paramount that he was seen. His were not the only spies in the land, not by far, and this would work to their advantage today.

He slowed to a trot as he entered the town through the eastern gates. People came out to look up at him, some smiling, others gaping, and a few adults pointed him out to children. It was not hard to imagine what they were saying, and he returned their smiles.

The horse's hooves clattered on the drawbridge and the stones of the courtyard as he rode in. By now, someone would have told Arthur that Merlin was here, and he'd be on his way down. Merlin's smile returned just thinking of it. Still smiling, he dismounted near the well and handed the reins to a squire just in time to see Arthur hurrying down the steps.

'Merlin!' Arthur's voice, no less strong now than it had been ten years ago. Merlin smiled at the sound and looked up to see Arthur striding towards him. He had barely started walking before they met and he was engulfed in a hug so tight and warm he suddenly remember just how aptly it was that Arthur's name was derived from a word for 'bear'.

'Arthur.' Merlin's voice was muffled by the fabric of Arthur's heavy shirt and he wished to the stars he could give in to the rush in the pit of his stomach. To the pure joy of seeing, feeling, smelling Arthur and all that came with it. To kiss him. 'It's been too long. But we must hurry, my friend.'

'No.' Arthur let go of him and slung his arm around Merlin's shoulders. 'We must not hurry.'

'I have urgent news, Arthur, we have to speak. Alone, preferably, and then your council should meet. Tonight. This can't wait.'

'Perhaps. But it will wait.' Arthur led him up the stairs and along such a familiar path that Merlin didn't even consider where they were headed. 'It has been too long and your king demands your presence. For once.' The last words had an almost pleading tone and Merlin knew he couldn't deny him this time. 'You only come here when there's something amiss, Merlin, and I can see in your face that this time it is dire.'

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur stopped him. 'I don't want to hear it. Not yet.' He opened the door and it was then that Merlin realised they had not turned into Arthur’s study. They were entering his bedroom. 'Later,' Arthur said. 'Later.' He took Merlin's hand and that note of pleading was back again.

'Later,' Merlin agreed and let Arthur pull him towards the bed.

. . .

Merlin lay in bed, staring towards the fire burning with low, deep-orange flames. Next to him Arthur was asleep, tired lines smoothing as he slept, his hair even more golden in the soft light than it was by day. He was every bit as gorgeous as he had been as a young and arrogant prince. But to Merlin he was far more beautiful now, with the temperance of wisdom and the softening of age and love lost and found.

He leaned closer and brushed a soft kiss against Arthur's temple. The king had fallen asleep almost immediately after they made love, and Merlin didn't want to risk waking him. Knowing Arthur, he probably already worked himself too hard and with the news Merlin had for him, things would only get worse.

Being Arthur's friend and advisor was tough enough, especially since he had to travel so much. It was always a matter of weighing the advantage of him knowing intimately what happened in the kingdom against the impediment of him being too far away from Camelot itself to do any actual advising. Being Arthur’s lover and confidante was even harder, because being away for too long made him feel like he was wilting. He was pretty sure Arthur felt the same way.

He rolled onto his back and tried to sort out his thoughts, the things he knew, the order in which they should be presented and how they influenced each other. Was Gwen still pregnant? He thought she was. Their fourth attempt; the other times she'd lost the baby only three or four months into the pregnancy. She was past that this time, unless there was something he hadn't heard, but he doubted that. Arthur would have told him even before they went back here, he was sure of that. He had the other times. Broken down and cried against Merlin's shoulder. Last time had been the worst, because Gwen was so weak afterwards and Arthur was scared to the core of losing her. It was cruel that a man who'd lost his own mother when she gave birth to him should see this happen to his wife again and again. Well, if she hadn't miscarried, then she was safely nearing the end of her pregnancy. Merlin felt slightly optimistic at the thought. He would have to find out, carefully, tomorrow.

As for his news to Arthur, they would of course have to call the council of knights. Perhaps he should alert them when he woke, have them be ready to meet with the king later in the day. They had to make plans and fast at that. He sighed, feeling uneasy with guilt. He shouldn't have let Arthur persuade him to wait; he should have told him everything right away. But he had needed this break as much as he thought Arthur did. At least he'd given him a few hours of bliss and ignorance, and they would both have more strength for it.

Merlin rolled to his side again and slid his arm across Arthur's wide chest, tucked himself into the crook of his arm. Arthur wasn't the only one who needed rest, and he wasn't the only one who had other needs too - who loved. Because there could never be any doubt of Merlin's love for him. The golden man, the king, the boy who teased him, the knight who still fought like none other. His Arthur. He closed his eyes and listened to the slow beat of Arthur's heart, strong in his chest, and let the musky smell of him, a heady mix of leather and sweat and dust, fill his senses. It was easy to relax here.

. . .

'An invasion...' Arthur stared at him across the tower room he referred to as his study. 'And you are certain? Have you seen it?'

Merlin made a face, wishing to all powers that he had a different answer. 'I am and yes, I have.'

He'd heard of the threat through his network of druids and other magic users; they were reliable. But he'd still gone out to see for himself and had seen ship after ship with large sails set ashore on the far south-eastern part of Albion. Still a long march away, but they would not hesitate. In the time it had taken him to travel here, they would have consolidated, perhaps even fought any local opposition. That part of the country only had tentative links to Arthur’s kingship. Small chieftains rather than any central governing rule. Technically, most were beholden to Camelot, but it was chiefly in name.

'I can't stress it enough, Arthur. This is bigger than we ever imagined.'

'We didn't exactly expect an overseas force to try,' Arthur said, bitter and wry. 'In my arrogance I was so sure this was it, that we had finally secured Albion, that we could move forward and truly better people's lives.' He turned, Merlin could see the tense frustration in the set of his shoulders.

There was a loud crash when Arthur slammed his fist down on the table-top, shaking the entire heavy desk and knocking over the hourglass.

'Fuck.' His voice was low and angry now. Merlin stood back, waited for him to let the worst of it out. 'Why can't the people of these lands ever have any luck? Hm? What have we done here? Are we cursed, Merlin? Is that it?' He turned, looking both angry and desperate.

'I don't know, Arthur.' Merlin sighed softly and closed the distance between them, took Arthur's face in his hands. 'But I don't think we are cursed. Nor that you are.' Because he knew Arthur would be thinking that too, what with Gwen's troubles and the way Arthur always found a way to carry the burdens of the world. 'I think luck has nothing to do with it.' He kissed Arthur softly. 'But that doesn't mean we can sit back and let it happen. Nothing, not even destiny, is truly set in stone. Not in the details, and as they say, the devil is in the details, so he can be rooted out of them.'

'We need to get the council together,' Arthur said, his arms around Merlin, calmer now for the comfort.

'I already asked them to gather at noon.'

Arthur smiled softly. 'Always a step ahead.'

'I have to be, with you always running right into things.' He looked out, assessed the height of the sun. 'We have some time, did you want me to take a look at Gwen?'

'Yes, please.' A furrow on Arthur's brow appeared where it hadn't been a moment ago – a special worry that was just for his wife. 'The physician says she's doing fine and the baby too, but...'

'I know.' Merlin kissed him. There was no need to tell him just how much Arthur worried, or how scared he was that this would end terribly wrong. Besides, no matter how good Fáelán, the court physician was – and he was very good – he wasn't Gaius and Arthur had never learned to trust him as implicitly as he had the old man. 'And you know I am more than happy to examine her too. I want this to work out almost as much as you and Gwen.'

To Merlin's absolute delight, Gwen was indeed both doing well and still very pregnant. There wasn't that much he could do that the court physician couldn't, but he was very certain that both mother and baby were still healthy.

'It's of course too soon to make any promises, but you really look great,' he told her and she beamed back at him.

'I feel great too!' She pecked a kiss on his cheek.

'How long has it been now?' he asked, checking one of Gauis' old notebooks for reference on development and such. She was clearly showing her state now and that was better than last time, when she'd not been visibly pregnant by the time she lost the child.

'Six months, at least. That we're sure of.' She looked towards Arthur, a shyness creeping into her smile and as if on cue, Arthur flushed a little. Merlin suspected they'd had something special that night six months ago and hid a smile of his own.

'Okay...' He flipped the pages and scanned them quickly. 'Hm. From the way you look, I think you might be a little further on than that. Seems like you're right on the chart Gaius made, but for closer to seven months.' He sent her a wide grin and she looked nearly shocked, as only someone who expects bad news and doesn't get it can do.

'I am? Really? I mean, I knew I felt good, but I didn't hope, and I know Fáelán said so, but...' She threw her arms around him. 'Can I perhaps hope a little bit now, Merlin? Is that all right?'

He hugged her gently. 'It is. The chances get better every day, Gwen.' A bit of hope would keep her going, even if it might break her heart far more if the worst came to pass. But she had to live too. Last he'd seen her, she'd been paralysed with fear of doing anything wrong and losing her child, so she'd barely left her room for weeks. 'Take care of yourself and … it just might happen.'

By any god in existence, he really, dearly hoped she would carry this one to term. She wanted it so much, and Merlin wanted Gwen to have this – Arthur too – but that wasn't all. As much as he hated to think about it, the kingdom badly needed an heir. Arthur had been the only son of Uther, which had always been a risk, but having no child at all was even worse. They needed this baby to arrive, well and healthy and whole.

. . .

'Who are these people?' Leon was the first to speak after Merlin presented the case for Arthur's council. The round table between them had a map thrown across it and a few empty goblets marked the landing site and what Merlin presumed would be their first point of attack. They had to work under the assumption that these invaders had done their research and had spies and scouts of their own.

'They are called Saxons,' Merlin said and, with a thought, made Gwaine's knife, which had been holding down one corner of the map, swivel and point off to the east of the land they knew as Albion. 'They come from across the sea, in this direction, as far as I can tell. They carry many men, dogs, even horses on their ships.'

'These ships...' Gwaine looked at him. 'What do they look like? Can you show us?'

Merlin quickly glanced around for a place to draw, but gave up. Instead he drew his own knife and quickly sketched an image in the air, infusing it with magic so it hung there, glowing a faint golden for a few minutes. 'Something like this.' He cocked his head. 'Some are even longer, some are wider. But they all have that large, square sail.'

Gwaine nodded slowly. 'I've heard of them,' he said softly. 'They are much feared in the lands south of here, across the water.' He pointed on the map. 'Down where Lancelot came from.'

'Really?' Merlin was honestly surprised. 'I've not met anyone before who had heard of them.'

Gwaine shrugged. 'I travel a lot... Used to do it even more.'

'True.' Still, it was a surprise. 'Lancelot came from a place that knows of these people?' Why had he never heard of that?

'Yes.' Gwaine nodded slowly. 'He didn't say that, but he told me he came from across the water to the south and I know that's where these Saxons have attacked before. I met a small group of refugees on the south coast once and helped them find shelter and a town that would take them in.'

'Anyone else have anything to add?' Arthur asked. 'Please speak up, no matter what it might be. Anything could be significant at this point.'

'What do they look like?' Percival asked. 'Mostly because I'm curious, but... I'll tell you if it's relevant.'

Merlin nodded. 'They are a taller people than us, though very few reach your height, Percival. Most have golden or light brown hair, some red, a lot of them have beards. They speak in a tongue that sounds slightly rough, but has a lovely lilt to it. They wear clothes in a durable cloth, mostly in earthy colours. Their weapons are strong and their swords longer than the kind we've seen the people to the south use.'

Percival nodded slowly. 'I see.' He looked troubled, deep in thought.

'Percival,' Arthur urged, gently. 'Tell us what it is that bothers you about this.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.' Percival looked up. 'It is not well known, but my father was a foreigner. He was almost as tall as me and, well, he looked a lot like what you describe. I speak his language as well as ours, so maybe... well, maybe I can help with that,' he ended, clearly not sure what to think of it himself.

'Good, yes, thank you,' Arthur said, as Gwaine patted Percival's shoulder. Gwen reached across the table and squeezed his arm. Merlin, too, appreciated that he felt some sort of shame at the thought of being related to these invaders. Percival seemed almost afraid his father had been working with someone from where he originated all along.

'Your father,' he said softly. 'Where is he now?'

'Oh.' Percival looked slightly surprised at Merlin's question. 'He's dead. Died when I was a lad.'

Merlin nodded. 'Well, too bad, he might have been able to help us as well. But since he can't, we'll make do with what we have. Which is a lot more than I thought when I entered this room. Thank you.'

Arthur spoke up again. 'The question then becomes: what do we do now? Do we gather forces?' Everyone seemed to agree to that; murmurs and nods spread around the table – even the peaceful Fáelán seemed aware that this was called for. Gwen did as well, despite her worried look towards Arthur. 'Good.' Arthur nodded, meeting their eyes one at a time. 'How do we do it? From here, locally, who goes?'

'I will go,' Percival said at once. 'If I can speak with these people... maybe there's time...'

Arthur nodded. 'Yes. Good idea. Leon, you as well. You will speak for me, the two of you.'

'My lord,' Leon nodded, agreeing. 'And I suggest we bring a force with us. We should be able to gather them on the way. We will want to let people know we're protecting them and let these Saxons know we're willing to meet them with steel if need be.'

'Yes. Do it.' Arthur sat down, and for a second Merlin could see the worry again, before it was brushed away by Arthur's will to present the strength his men depended on. 'I suggest you leave as soon as possible. Take a fifth of the guard to form the core of your force. Bors,' he turned to the oldest of their number, his father's old commander, 'you will lead the men here in Leon's absence.'

'Yes, sire.' Even Bors' tone was gruff, matching the grey at his temples and the scars in his face. Arthur had come to trust him after Uther's death and Agravaine's betrayal. In return, Bors had remained staunchly loyal even as Arthur began reversing so many of his father's decisions. Merlin knew he would be a steady rock, breaking the wave of any fear that might rise in the town when word of war spread. It was a good choice.

'Right. Does any of you have any matter that needs to be brought before this council?' Arthur asked, as he always did at the end of a meeting. Anything could be said at this point, from concerns over cows grazing on battlements to the possibility of spies in the ranks. This time no-one spoke up. 'In that case, this council is ended. We all have things to do. May fortune smile on us.'

Arthur rose and offered Gwen his arm. The rest of them stood when she did and watched the pair leave before they headed out themselves. Gwaine stayed behind and helped Merlin gather the maps and written accounts he'd brought.

'You're worried, mate,' he said. 'More than I've ever seen you before.'

'I don't like war,' Merlin answered, diverting. 'I don't like that we have to fight and kill.'

'This is different, though.' Gwaine stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 'I know you, Merlin. You are not usually this concerned. That worries me more than anything said here today.'

Merlin sighed and nodded. 'I have a bad feeling about this. Very bad. I worry what they are bringing with them. If we'll run into more opposition than their numbers suggest. I hear rumours of strange magic. I don't know what kind yet. I have to see for myself.' It wasn’t all he was scared of, but it was as much as he was willing to say right now.

Gwaine nodded slowly. 'Did you tell this to Arthur?'

'Yes. Most of it.' Merlin met his friend's eyes. 'Will you tell Leon and Percival to be wary of it?'

'Of course. But you could tell them yourself. I know you will, I can see it.’ He smirked, and Merlin sighed, exasperated. Blasted man was seeing right through him. ‘Ha. I knew it. And when you go, be careful too,' Gwaine said. 'I know you'll risk everything for Arthur, but don't do that till you absolutely have to. Okay?'

Merlin had to smile, though he knew it was a weak one. 'Okay.'


	2. The Wicked Day

The small army left the following morning. Arthur and Gwen stood on the steps in the courtyard and saw them leave. Merlin stayed up in his tower room, but he too watched closely. In a week or so they'd reach the area where they expected to encounter the Saxon army, and a day or two before that Merlin would head out himself. Not to join them, but to watch them. He needed to see for himself how the Saxons fought, if they had new magic. Of course, he would not only observe; he'd be in a position to aid Camelot's forces if they needed it. Which he hoped to all things holy they would not. If these men needed the help of Merlin, the Warlock of Camelot, then things were bad indeed. It was very rare for them to meet opposition they could not handle.

In the meantime, there was enough to take care of. Merlin soon found himself heading north to check on reports that ships were landing up there as well. Thankfully, they turned out to be false. A fishing vessel from the green island to the west had got itself lost and raised a panic when it was sighted on the shore. It did, at least, give him a chance to secure his network up in those parts, talk to some of the druid enclaves as well. They were more powerful allies than most imagined, and he cultivated that. 

Another rumour, this time from the northeast, reached him while he was speaking to the druids, and he had to rush to see for himself once more. This time, it was a legitimate worry. The force was very small, only two boats, and they looked slightly different from the ones they'd had in the south, but there was a force landing. Due to their small size, the locals had them defeated by the time Merlin reached the area. Still, they insisted more were on their way, which was a concern in itself. 

Usually when Merlin had to move through Albion in a hurry, he would use the form of a bird. The art of transforming into animal form was one he'd learned after training with the druids. He'd perfected it by combining it with his knowledge of other forms of appearance changing magic. Most often he'd use a crow or other very common bird, but now he was in a hurry he took the form of a bird of prey, built for both fast flight and with the stamina for long travel.

 

By the time he returned to Camelot, it was time to follow Leon and Percival to the east. He only just had time to warn Arthur about the happenings to the northeast before he was off again. During his half day back home, he learned that Arthur had begun consolidating his forces. Riders were dispatched to all the vassal states to muster troops. Not to get them to Camelot, but in order to have them ready in case they were needed later. This was still small-scale, but the persistent rumours that more were coming was enough for Arthur to decide to err on the side of caution. 

Before leaving, he made time for a quick visit to Gwen. She hadn't asked him to, but he knew it would put her mind more at ease if he did. To be honest, it would calm him as well, not to mention take some of that worry off Arthur's shoulders. The king had more than enough on his plate right now.

To his relief, Gwen was looking good and smiling when he knocked on her door. 'Merlin, I didn't expect to see you!' She was both surprised and pleased, he could tell by her smile. 'Weren't you supposed to be on your way to help Percival and Leon?'

'I was and I am. Leaving as soon as you've told me how you feel.' He was pulled into a brief hug and could feel the rounding of her belly against himself. She'd grown bigger in the last week and a half. 

'Well, then I can tell you I feel wonderful,' she said. 'So you can go.' She made a shooing gesture at him and he laughed softly. 'Go on. Your queen commands.' The light in her eyes was sign enough she was joking, even without the bright smile on her face.

'Let me check you properly?' he asked. 'Please? For Arthur too.'

'Of course.' She nodded. 'You know anything you can tell me will help me as well.'

He led her to the bed and she leaned back and let him run his hands over her stomach. 'You're smiling at lot more now,' he said. 'I'm glad.'

'What you said last time... you were right.' She ran fingers over one of his hands. 'I can't live in fear. If this baby comes, it comes, and if it does, I don't want it to have felt nothing but fear for nine months. I want it to know it's loved and will bring happiness to a lot of people.' 

Merlin looked up and met her eyes, smiling back at her. 'You are wise, my lady,' he said. 'I hadn't thought of it like that.' He listened to her, sensing the faint but sure heartbeat in there, much faster than his own. 'There's definitely life. Strong life.' He squeezed Gwen's hand. 'You have grown too, so I'd guess it's a healthy child as well.'

'Oh, Merlin...' She squeezed back, hard. 'Is it too much to hope for a boy, then? I mean, hoping for a child alone is new, am I spoiled to hope it's a boy?'

'No. We all know what it would mean. But I also know that if your child is a girl, Arthur will happily give his crown to his daughter some day.'

'I know... but... it's easier with a boy. A son. To pass on the crown.' It was, of course, the truth. 

'Still. Hope all you want, but don't fear. Can we make that deal?'

She smiled softly. 'Yes. We can.'

'Shake on it, then.' He held out his hand and she shook it solemnly, as if making a bargain at the market. 'I'll see you soon, Gwen.'

She tugged him nearer by the hand she was holding and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. 'I will. Take care, Merlin. We need you. Arthur especially.'

. . .

The journey to catch up with Leon and Percival's force was a rushed one. Exhausting too, as Merlin had to keep going far longer than he was really comfortable doing. When he finally did find them, they were camped not more than a mile from where the Saxon army were, something he was sure they were aware of. They were near the south coast still, but had marched west from the landing site to where the armies now met. Merlin could see the water as he flew in, could even vaguely see ships out there with large sails. Some of them, at least, must have sailed here.

He set down in a nearby grove, shook his feathers and focused on changing shape. Not surprisingly, he was tired enough that he had to struggle to change his form back to his own. That was one good reason not to push himself so hard. There had been one time, years ago, when he nearly got stuck. On the second try, he succeeded, much to his relief. Quickly, he made his way towards the camp, the dimming light from the sun setting at his back. The scent of smoke and meat cooking met him as he entered the camp caused his stomach to rumble, even as he waved to several of the knights and soldiers as he passed.

Towards the centre of the uneven circle of tents he found Leon by a fire, chatting to two knights Merlin only vaguely knew. 'Merlin!' Leon jumped to his feet and clasped Merlin's arm. 'Good to see you. I trust all is well in Camelot?'

'It is,' Merlin confirmed. 'The queen is also in both good spirits and health - and I swear she's grown since you left. The king is very pleased.' He might play it up a bit, but he knew the grass had ears, and this was the kind of thing that would boost morale - and vex any listening enemy.

Leon knew that too. 'That is fantastic news,' he agreed. 'Come inside and have dinner with Percival and me. Tell us more.'

'I'd be happy to,' Merlin agreed and followed Leon inside the tent after nodding to the two knights by the fire. He surreptitiously checked the tent flap for the mark of magic he'd placed there that made listening in nigh impossible; it was intact. It was a precaution he'd taken with any tent that might hold a commanding officer. The knights all trusted each other, bound as they were by oaths and brotherhood. Merlin didn't place his entire trust in that - they were all human. They, too, could fail. 

Inside the tent was furnished with a table, currently set for two, all but the food missing, bedrolls and another table. Standing at the back of the tent was a small folded table, and next to it was Percival, looking over a map of the area, using pebbles to denote forces. Merlin took this in as he greeted Percival and shook his hand. 

'Food's on its way,' he told Merlin. 'Should be more than enough for you as well.' He turned and found an extra plate somewhere and another goblet, then pulled up another makeshift seat, which was really just a block of wood.

'Thanks.' Merlin sat down, grateful for the rest after the long journey. 'I saw the lay of the land as I came. Is there any news? How does it look from your perspective?'

'It's hard to say...' Leon looked contemplative, weighing his words as he answered. 'I put us as having good odds against the force we see here, but we keep hearing rumours that there are more behind them.'

Percival nodded. 'We could really use your help figuring that out,' he said.

'I need rest first, but I'll look in the morning,' Merlin promised.

'Make it early then,' Leon said. 'We think they'll attack tomorrow.'

'Attack? You're taking a defensive strategy?' Merlin was genuinely surprised. 'If our odds are good... and this is Albion. They are the invaders.'

'We have an advantage if we wait,' Percival explained. 'The terrain will work better for us. We want them to have to struggle to get to us. So we wait.'

There was no reason for Merlin to doubt them. He'd never been good at military strategy, he left that to the experts, but it was good to know that there were reasons for their plans.

'I see,' he said. 'Right. I'll get a really early start then. You should probably know that there seems to be rumours of people attacking all over the kingdom. I visited one false alarm and one very small landing before coming here.'

'More? Where?' Leon demanded.

'Well, we had a false alarm to the north, on the west coast, but that suggests that people there are worried,' Merlin said. 'And two boats landed in the northeast. They never gained foothold but were defeated by the locals. Still... that is worrying, given the larger force down here.'

'Very worrying,' Leon agreed. 'We have to win this one and give everyone time to consolidate. What's Arthur doing?'

'Sending riders out to all ends of the kingdom to ready for war,' Merlin said, sounding grim even in his own ears. 

'It's the right course of action,' Percival said. 'Though you're not the only one wishing it wasn't so. We all wanted this peace to last, now that Albion is finally united.'

'United we stand,' Leon said. 'Let's never forget that. Arthur has done what no-one else has ever even dared attempt. We can meet this threat as well and we both can and will best it.'

. . .

Merlin found a spot in a tent and went to bed right after finishing his dinner with Leon and Percival. He would have to get a very early start if his recognisance flight was to be of any use. He was up shortly after sunrise, which was really very early this time of year. The morning was fragrant with a bit of moisture on the ground from rain overnight, and there was a light cloud cover that made for perfect viewing conditions.

He walked off into the grove he'd landed in the previous evening and changed his form to that of a crow. Most of the men here didn't know the full extent of his powers or how he got around so fast. He preferred to keep it that way. 

Taking flight was always exhilarating. Even under circumstances such as these, it was a rush to rise into the air. To feel it all around him, the rush of wind and the way it bore him high and fast. He circled the camp once, then flew over the trees rather than directly towards the Saxon camp. It might be a little suspicious if a bird did that, and he was still wary of any magic users they might have brought with them. Who knew how they did magic where these people were from? It was unlikely that their religion was the one of old Albion, so Merlin wanted to take every precaution. 

A detour later, he flew low over the camp where the Saxons slept in tents of a rougher cloth than the ones Camelot's forces used. There were fewer tents, too, but they were a little bigger and he got the feeling there were more people per tent, putting the number of Saxons higher. Still, from what they knew, Camelot had a tactical advantage and more experience. Not to mention they were better organised. He saw nothing that pointed to anything unusual there, and flew further away, towards the coast.

Following the coastline, Merlin ventured east, flying over jagged, nearly white cliffs. Below him, there were choppy waves and his senses were filled with the smell of salt and sea and - to his bird form - the very alluring smell of dead fish. He continued for the better part of an hour while the sun rose properly in the sky ahead of him. By the time he was ready to turn around, he saw something.

Sails. Lots of them. Many ships near the shore. It was now a question of whether he'd have time to get a proper look and still report back, but he decided he had to risk it. The information was too valuable. 

Ten minutes later he could see properly. Some of the ships were clearly those this band of Saxons had arrived in. They were empty and moored along the shore. But they were still far from where he'd seen the initial invasion force, so there were more of them. He could see burnt villages and the signs of fighting. There were clear marks of a large force landing here and then parting in two, one heading east the other west. This was not good news. It meant that they were currently only fighting half the Saxon force - and that was only the one in this area!

Worse yet was the sight of more ships coming in. At least as many as were already at the coast. This was a large invasion now and they'd need to meet it fast and with overwhelming force. Those two factors were going to be decisive and they were at odds with each other. With his heart heavy with true fear, Merlin headed back towards the camp.

. . .

He could hear the battle before he saw it. A brisk wind was bearing his way and it carried the sound of metal against metal, of cries and screams, and the sweet, sickly scent of blood. He was too late.

Still, there was a chance to get a look at the battle, which was, after all, what he'd come here to do. To observe more than help, to gauge the strength of the Saxon army, and not least to find out if they had magic on their side. 

The form of the crow was to his advantage now. Many birds just like him were drawn to the battlefield, called in by the very smells that made Merlin's conscious mind feel nauseated while his bird instincts were attracted. He loathed that part of taking animal form. The war of instinct and intelligence. 

He flew in low, but high enough in the air that he wouldn't attract stray arrows. It also gave him the perspective needed to take in the battle and see which way it was going. At first he was optimistic. Camelot's forces were standing their ground, dug in deep on the small hill they were camped on. Their line was holding and the more feral-looking Saxon army was battering against a wall of shields and spears. 

Another sweep and Merlin noticed patterns that were not what he'd first expected. There were men hanging back, formations being formed. They were trying to tire the Camelot force, or maybe trick them into thinking they were ahead. The moment there was any weakness, they'd be able to rush up with more troops, ready to push through.

Even worse, he now saw figures he was certain were magic users. Two of them, dressed in robe-like garments, adorned with feathers and antlers and other animal tokens. The style reminded him of some druidic practices, but with a different flavour to it. These weren't druids, but they used some of the same techniques, that much he was reasonably sure of. If they were here, he'd have to join the fight soon. He also had to get word to Leon about the extra men back there, behind the line.

Merlin set down on a block of wood in the camp itself, hopped from there into the nearest tent and changed shape. He ran full speed up to the line and was relieved to see Leon, walking back and forth, supporting his men.

'Leon!' Merlin ran up and grabbed his arm. 'A word. Quick.' He lowered his voice. 'It may lose you the fight if you don't listen.'

Leon nodded and pulled Merlin a few steps back. 'Talk to me,' he said, voice low. 

'I'll tell you all of it when this is over,' Merlin said. 'For now you need to know that they're trying to trick you. They act as if these are their entire force, but it's not. They're not striking you without plan either.'

He had Leon's full attention now, and continued. 'There are patterns to it. They strike harder at specific places, and there are more men, back where you can't see them from here. They're ready to storm you the moment there's a crack in your defences. They also have what I think are two magic users, so I'm staying nearby now.'

Leon's expression was telling. He looked extremely serious. 'Right. Thanks.' He clapped Merlin on the shoulder. 'Stay behind, don't get hit by anything, and if you can help the injured, do so.'

'Of course,' Merlin said. 'You know I'll do what I can. But if you get hit with magic, you'll want me there for that or the injured will be joined by the dead.'

'Yes. I will want that,' Leon said. 'No offence, Merlin, but curse magic.' 

Merlin really couldn't blame him just then. He nodded grimly and Leon ran back ahead, barking out orders to try and meet the threat he was now aware of. Merlin began to tend to the first of the wounded soldiers. 

He hated sword wounds, and the heavy Saxon blades left nasty gashes. Healing magic was far too draining for him to be able to do much of it, so he saved it for those who were worst off, using it to stave off death by blood loss or save limbs. Anyone else had to make do with bandages and sympathy. Near him, the battle raged with the same ferocious force it had when he landed, and for a time he was able to drown it out and focus on the people who needed his help.

Until the spell came. He felt it before he heard or saw it, the tingling feeling of magic in the air, and he instinctively threw up as large a protective field as he could muster. Something bounced off it, ringing in his ears. Outside the shield soldiers and knights alike staggered, struck by a wall of crude, magical force, and then it was over. The line broke.

Saxon men, most having height advantage over the Albion army, rushed through and the fight went from orderly to chaotic in a matter of seconds. There was no line, only man against man, sword on sword, a mess of death and destruction. 

Merlin abandoned the wounded with instructions for them to get as far away as possible, and rushed into the field. The battle was already around them and he ducked in deeper, dodging his way towards where he felt the presence of magic. As he got nearer he concealed himself as well as he could  
in broad daylight and with no cover. In this mass of people he might yet have a chance to sneak up on someone. 

He'd just got the spell in place when he saw him. A tall man, around 20 years Merlin's senior, he guessed, skin weathered and wrinkled, and his eyes bright, burning blue under grey eyebrows. His trousers were embroidered with symbols, his chest bare and covered in runes, and he wore a cloak with the hood up. The cloak was what had led Merlin to think he was wearing a robe when he'd seen him from above. It was a sight in itself. Feathers hung from the hems, with small pieces of antler stitched to the back of it and many teeth and claws from various animals sewn on in strange patterns that made no sense to Merlin. An aura of power emanated from the man, strong enough that Merlin hesitated.

He didn't want to attack him. Not only did he not want to, he was afraid to. He, Merlin of Camelot, the most powerful sorcerer of all times (or so Kilgarrah kept insisting, even if Merlin never quite believed it) was scared. This man, the one he was facing now, was strong. He had no doubt about that. 

There would only be one chance at this. If he struck, he'd have to make a difference with that one attempt, because he'd give himself away by doing so. There was one more to consider as well, and there was no telling if the other sorcerer was as powerful as this one. 

Merlin slowly circled the man, trying to get a feel for him, spot a weakness. As he got close, he could sense that some of the power he felt wasn't coming from the man himself, but from some of the objects he was wearing. Infused objects, fetishes, power storage. Whatever they were, they were the cause of some of what Merlin was feeling, so perhaps he did have a chance here. 

Slowly he raised his hand. The grey-haired sorcerer had his back turned, and now he raised his arms and began chanting, calling to the sky. Merlin could feel the wave of magic from him and that settled it. Risking the men was not acceptable. He struck. Hard, fast, precise. The spell hit and the sorcerer's knees buckled, he stumbled, and Merlin slipped away. Staying to see how much he'd done would be the end of him, no doubt about that. 

Merlin ran towards the camp again, hoping to get to where he could take flight and get a look from above. He also needed to locate the wounded men again. He was nearly at the tents when someone grabbed his arm and he rounded, ready to strike, only to come face to face with Leon. 

'We're retreating,' he said, pale, blood running from a cut on his cheek. 'Get out as fast as you can. Help get the men organised if possible. Bear west, to the wood. We'll hide there.'

'But I just took out their sorcerer. I think you'll-'

'No. It won't be enough. They are too many and too strong. We've got to fall back.'

Merlin could hear the desperation in his tone and nodded. 'I'll do what I can,' he said. Leon nodded and was gone again before Merlin could say more.

By nightfall they were gathered in the forest, the remaining knights and soldiers. More than half of their force was lost, either dead or missing, and many of those who were here were wounded. They dared not have a fire, lest they attract attention, and Merlin had rarely seen the knights of Camelot look so defeated. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Arthur what had happened here. It could have been worse, but not by much. 

For now, all he could do was try and help the wounded, soothe those who had lost friends, and hope they would be able to make a proper retreat with the men they had left.


	3. Aithusa

The journey back to Camelot was slow and arduous. They had to constantly scout all around them, but to Leon's surprise, they weren't followed. As they reached villages and town, they were able to leave some of the wounded there to recover - and to help mount a defence against the force that was bound to follow soon. Merlin elected to stay with the retreating army to keep them safe; it was still too far to go back and forth to Camelot, and during the first four days of the retreat they still felt very vulnerable to attacks.

It wasn't till they were a few days from Camelot that Merlin took off on his own. He, as well as Leon and Percival, thought it was best if Arthur was prepared before they returned. It might also be good to give him a few extra days to prepare, send out more riders if he needed to, before anyone advanced on them.

For Merlin, the flight was only a few hours, though they felt very long. The worry weighed on him and he felt slower in the air than usual. The thought of how Arthur would take the news was only one part of it, though Merlin knew very well that Arthur being Arthur would blame himself for the defeat. It was also the very real concern about the turn of events. 

Not only had they lost a battle, they had a very strong force coming their way. It was no small thing. Words circled in Merlin's mind like stormcrows or carrion eaters over a battlefield. Snippets of prophecies overheard or read, all of it giving rise to a very ominous feeling. 

As predicted, Arthur didn't take the news well; especially not the loss of many men.

'I should have gone myself!' he said, pacing the throne room, around the round table, stomping as he walked. 'If I'd been there, perhaps we'd have been able to plan for a break in the lines. Something!'

'Arthur. It wouldn't have made a difference. Leon is one of the best.' Merlin stood back, out of Arthur's way, waiting for him to calm while reasoning with him. 

'Still, it's my duty to my men to be there.' It was an argument Merlin had heard many times before, and his answer was always the same.

'It's their duty to you and Camelot to fight,' he said. 'As it's yours to send them where they're needed. You can't be tied up in one place for what is, after all, a minor battle.' Arthur was slowing down and Merlin stepped closer, placed a hand on his shoulder. 'You are here where you have to be. Stop blaming yourself and look ahead instead. That's what we need.'

Arthur sighed, shoulders sagging. 'Yes. You are right. I know that. It's just that... I hate it when I lose good people. I can't stop thinking that they died for my sake and how they'll never come home to their families and...' He turned and faced Merlin. 'It weighs on me. I wish I could do more.'

'You do more,' Merlin said, slowly pulling him into an embrace. 'You help those families, see that they don't go hungry because a man died. And you work and fight harder than anyone to keep us all safe.' 

Merlin could feel Arthur slowly give in to the comfort of arms around him and squeezed gently when he felt him relax. 'I just wish I could have done something,' Arthur muttered against Merlin's shoulder.

'I know.' It wouldn't help to counter that. He'd said all he could, now it was about making Arthur feel better. In that, all tricks were fair game. They still had to discuss the rest of Merlin's findings.

. . .

The wait for the remains of the army was a fretful one. Not so much that anyone feared for their safety now, but the worried wait to see who was in fact still there, who was wounded, and who had to be left behind on the field.

Seeing them enter the city two days after Merlin arrived was a sad sight. Bedraggled, dirty, many with light wounds, the line of soldiers and knights wove through the streets towards the castle itself. The crowds out to see them were not cheering this time. There was a deadening silence in the entire town, as if everything was holding its breath. 

Here and there cries broke out when a loved one was recognised, only to be muffled immediately in embraces or exchanged for soft sobs. The worst part was when the last man had passed. The silence was replaced by a collective sigh as those without a relative returned were left with the knowledge that their loved ones were either dead or seriously wounded. 

Merlin turned away from the window where he'd been watching the army and headed down to meet Gwen and Arthur. They were in the courtyard, welcoming the returned, and he knew they'd both want a moment of comfort and silence afterwards. He also knew he and Gwen would have to force Arthur to take that before he talked to Leon and Percival - who would need rest even more.

When he found them, that thought disappeared like dew on a summer morning. Because there, with Arthur, was not only Gwen, but Percival and a captive Saxon. That, he had not expected, not one bit. There were no protests from his side when Arthur declared they were having a meeting of the round table right now. Instead, he grabbed the nearest servant and asked her to make sure those who weren't present were called.

They gathered in the throne room, all silent and looking grim, with the Saxon man seated in a chair in the middle of the empty part of the room. No-one wanted to speak, as there was no guarantee the man wouldn't understand at least some of what was said.

It wasn't till they were all finally gathered that Arthur spoke up. 'We will not dwell on what happened to the east,' he said. 'Not yet. Instead I'd like to hear from Percival and our guest. Please, Percival.' He nodded towards the very grim-looking Pervical, who stood and nodded. 

'Thank you, sire,' he said. 'I won't waste everyone's time by going into details about the capture of our guest. That's a tale for later, perhaps over ale.' A soft assent came from Gwaine's side, but even he didn't want to break the serious mood of the conference. 'Our guest,' Percival continued, 'is Æthulf. He's a Saxon scout or spy or something along those lines. He is not, as far as he can tell us, of any great importance, but he knows things and I'm quite sure he knows more than he lets on.' 

'Can he tell us how many of his people are on the way?' Arthur asked.

'And why,' Merlin added, because that seemed to him a far more important question. One that might be the key to defeating these people. 

Percival looked from one to the other. 'I doubt he'll know all of that, but I will ask him. I may need help persuading him...' 

Arthur clenched his jaw. 'I'll think about that,' he said. 'For now, you ask. He should be aware that he's in a bad situation right now, that this is a matter of life or death. For him, more than us right now.' He turned and faced the bound Æthulf. 'I am King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, son of Uther, ruler of Albion, and I will show you mercy if you answer our questions.'

Merlin wasn't sure how much - if any - of that Æthulf understood, but he was certain the general idea of establishing power relations went through clearly. Arthur's stare was unmistakable, as was the way everyone around the table, all these noble-looking people, deferred to him. The first among equals, Arthur called himself, but to everyone outside this circle, he was far more.

Judging by the way his eyes widened, the gist of the message wasn't lost on Æthulf. Arthur would have seen that too, though he didn't change his expression. He held Æthulf's gaze for a moment longer, then broke it and nodded to Percival.

'Understood, sire,' Percival said, glancing at Merlin, probably hoping for assistance with the interrogation from him. For now, Merlin feigned ignorance of the request. Percival turned to his prisoner and asked a question in a language that sounded very foreign to Merlin. It had sounds that made him wonder if they contorted their tongues to make them while others were so soft it was hard to tell where one syllable or word ended and another began.

A few sentences were exchanged before Percival turned towards the round table again. 'He says he doesn't know how many people are coming this way. He claims there's no coordinated invasion going on. Only several raids at once by different tribes. They have stories about Albion, it seems. About fertile land to the west. They have had some hard years, so apparently many people have all thought they should look for a better place.'

'I see.' Arthur frowned, thinking. 'And do you believe him?' 

Percival took his time, thinking that over, running his gaze over Æthulf again and again, as if weighing him as much as his words. 'I believe most of it, sire,' he said. 'I think details may be wrong, but the general idea is probably true. I do think it might not be a coordinated effort, but I also think the forces we saw and perhaps those Merlin spotted as well are working together.'

Arthur nodded. 'All right. Let's assume that for now... Go on.'

Once again, Percival and Æthulf spoke. Merlin could tell that Percival was surprised by some of what he heard, that Æthulf sounded bitter or angry, he wasn't sure which, and the exchange went on longer than the previous one had. By the time they stopped, Arthur was starting to look impatient, and Merlin had to admit he was aching to say something himself. 

'So?' Arthur looked expectantly at Percival.

'It's a bit... complicated...' Percival said. 'On one hand he's repeating what he said before about hard years and looking for new and more fertile land. He's so adamantly sticking to it, I wonder if there isn't something to it. I'd really like help finding out, but...' He threw up his hands.

'I'll think about that,' Merlin promised. 'There might be a way. One that doesn't involve anyone getting hurt.'

'I'd really appreciate that, because the rest of his talk makes even less sense.' Percival looked exasperated, a look Merlin had rarely seen on him - and when he had it was usually directed at Gwaine in a tavern.

'Try us anyway,' Leon said dryly. 

'Yes, please,' Gwen added. 'We have to hear it before we can figure out if it's even remotely true.' 

Æthulf's head snapped around when she spoke, and Merlin realised he'd not noticed Gwen before. The presence of a woman in a council like this was clearly a surprise to him. That might be useful. No-one else seemed to notice this, though Merlin was sure Gwen had seen it herself.

'Right,' Percival said. 'Our guest here claims that one of their goddesses sent a representative to convince them to sail in this direction. It would seem we're north of where they'd usually look for their fabled western lands. Which fits, since we know they've been south of the sea from here before. It's the goddess thing that's not making sense.'

'How much not making sense?' Gwaine asked. ' I mean, there's a fair wide range of experiences that could cover. From visions to actual people - and a few things in between.'

'Apparently it was an actual woman. She spoke their languages, but with a strange accent. She claimed to be speaking for this goddess of theirs. A goddess associated with war, magic and fertility.' He stopped to ask Æthulf an additional question, and nodded when he got a curt reply. 'She came right out of their legends. A woman with black hair, white skin and a black dress, riding on a white dragon.'

Merlin gasped. By the way both Æthulf and Arthur stared at him, he could've kicked himself, because giving away his shock was not prudent in an interrogation like this. Foolish of him. Very foolish. But this was very, very bad news.

'A dragon?' Arthur looked sceptical. Merlin wondered how much he remembered of what Merlin had told him about dragons. 'Seriously?'

Percival nodded. 'Very seriously. That's why we argued. I didn't believe him, but he said so.'

'Well, I guess that even with only one dragon left in these parts there may be more elsewhere,' Bors sensibly added. 

'True, Bors.' Arthur nodded. Merlin knew that was one bit of information he'd never shared with his council; the bit where there were two dragons and Merlin could talk to them. The part where the woman who showed up had an accent was what made Merlin truly suspicious. There was a theory there he'd have to check. That, plus a white dragon was really too much to ignore.

'Does your _friend_ have anything to add?' Leon asked, bitterness dripping from his tone. 

'Or do we have any more questions right now?' Arthur asked, looking around at the council. No-one spoke up.

Percival directed another question at Æthulf, who shook his head. Clearly he wasn't going to volunteer more information. Not that anyone would have seriously expected that. 

'Right. Take him to a tower room,' Arthur said, standing up. 'Post a double guard - outside the tower as well. We will so far treat him well, since he's actually told us something worth our time. Make sure he knows that's why he's not in a dungeon. That his position here can change easily.'

Percival nodded, and Leon stepped up to help him untie Æthulf's feet and get him standing. 

'The round table will meet again tomorrow,' Arthur said. 'Until then, we will all consider what's been said here. I know you all have a fairly good idea of what our current situation is, but keep in mind that Merlin has seen even more ships. There are at least three separate forces in Albion now. I need you all to think now. We will make a plan tomorrow.'

Percival and Leon led Æthulf out of the room while the rest of them stood and watched, then they slowly began to leave, one or two at a time, till only Gwen, Arthur and Merlin were left. They stood by their chairs, Gwen to Arthur's right and Merlin to his left, and let silence fall.

Gwen broke the moment. 'There is a lot to consider,' she said, a hand automatically gliding over her stomach, both protective and lovingly. 'But you two need to rest as well.' She turned and brushed her fingers over Arthur's cheek, leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. 'Especially you. I know you haven't slept much lately. Let Merlin help you out.' There was no doubt what she meant by that, and Merlin felt his ears getting a little warm even as Arthur's cheek got a bit of a flush too.

'Gwen...' he said, his tone pleading ever so softly. 

'I'm not joking, Arthur. Merlin said I need to live and hope - so do you.' She took his hand and put it on her stomach. 'For all of us.' She held on to his hand, kept it there. 'You and Merlin give each other something. I didn't just agree to share you with him, I love both of you. I want you to be happy, to feel good. The way I do. Knowing you have each other is a comfort for me. So go now. Talk, laugh, sleep, whatever you need. But I want you to smile when I see you again. Both of you,' she added, pointing a stern finger at Merlin.

'Yes, my lady,' Merlin said, giving her a wink and otherwise keeping his expression serious. 

'Good. And you too, Arthur. I hope you listen.' She looked up at him and kissed him again. This time he kissed back, properly, passionately enough that Merlin turned away. 

'I'm listening,' he whispered, loud enough that Merlin could hear. 'You are... amazing, Gwen. I don't deserve you.'

'Silly man,' she said. 'Now I'm going upstairs and I suggest you two go somewhere as well. We'll talk tomorrow.'

. . .

Despite Gwen's orders, they didn't get any time to themselves right away. As soon as Merlin had coaxed Arthur into joining him in the tower, there was a frantic knock on the door. Merlin opened it to the sight of Arthur's manservant, looking flushed from hurrying up the stairs, holding out a message that had clearly come by carrier pigeon. 

'John,' Merlin greeted him, surprised, when he opened the door. 'What's wrong?'

'Urgent,' John gasped. 'For the king. Just arrived. From the north.'

Arthur came to the door, standing right behind Merlin. 'Thanks, John. Let me see.' He held out his hand and the letter was passed to him. 'Stay a moment, catch your breath. I'll see if I need to answer this right away.'

John nodded and Merlin gestured him inside and towards a chair. When John was seated, Merlin turned to Arthur again. He looked tight-lipped and slightly pale. Merlin rushed to his side.

'More bad news? What happened?' he asked, urgent.

'Those people you spoke to up north were right. More were on their way.' He passed the missive to Merlin who quickly scanned it. A fleet of ten ships had landed near where he'd been recently. The message had been sent by someone from the nearest town, which now consisted mostly of burnt-down houses. 

Merlin cursed under his breath. 'What do we do now?' he asked, more of the air than of Arthur.

'We make sure the council knows. Then we think. A lot.' Arthur crossed to Merlin's desk and scribbled a note containing most of the information from the letter and a plea to consider this on top of what they had on the agenda for tomorrow. He folded it twice and took it to John. 'Make sure my council members see this. Take it to each of them, one at a time. When you're done, burn it.'

John jumped up, accepting the note. 'Yes, sire. Right away!'

'Good man.' Arthur clapped a hand to his shoulder. 'And John, there's no need to rush. You have all evening to do this.'

John smiled. 'Yes, sire. Thank you.' 

Merlin shut the door behind the young man and looked at Arthur. 'There goes most of our rest,' he said, regretful. 

'Most, perhaps,' Arthur said. 'But not all. My lady wife was very adamant there.' He winked at Merlin. 'She had a good point.' He grabbed Merlin's belt and pulled him into a kiss. 'We can talk in bed.'

. . .

Merlin woke early in the morning. Greyish light from a cloudy sky streamed into the room and made everything look cold. Even Arthur's golden hair looked dull, as if he was greyer than the previous night. Merlin slid up behind him in the bed and closed his eyes, nose buried against the warm skin at the nape of Arthur's neck. He stayed there several minutes, feeling Arthur's chest move with steady breath, inhaling his scent. 

Finally he opened his eyes again and carefully slid out of bed. Quietly, so he wouldn't wake Arthur, he dressed and climbed the internal stairs to the level above his bedchamber, to the small laboratory where he kept things that not even Fáelán should see. Mindful again of being silent, he found a few ingredients so precious and rare that he'd not have considered using them for this if he hadn't been sure it was absolutely necessary for their survival.

It took him a while to brew the potion, and even when he could hear Arthur stir downstairs, he didn't speak or move, only watched the process. At exactly the right moment, when the colour changed to deep purple, he added the spell component, whispering repeatedly over the tiny gold pot. The pot seemed to give off a soft hum where it hung over the large beeswax candle. A small 'pop' sounded, and a potent scent of malt spread while the potion turned so deep a colour as to be almost black. It was done. Merlin blew out the candle and left the pot to cool while he climbed down the steep wooden stairs again. 

Arthur was sitting in the window seat, dressed only in his trousers, and looking out over Camelot. The view from Merlin's tower room was fantastic; when they were younger, in times that had been less worried than these, he and Arthur would often sit there, together, and talk. The sight of Arthur there alone evoked those memories in Merlin and made him long for that time. Not because it had always been easy, but because they'd had more hope then than he felt now. They'd won so much since then, done so much of what they'd planned and dreamed. Now Merlin feared the dream was falling apart. 

'Arthur?' He slowly walked over. 'A penny for your thoughts,' he said, smiling softly when he turned his head.

Arthur held out a hand, reaching for him, and wound his arm around Merlin's waist when he came to stand next to him. 'Thinking of my people,' he said. 'All of them. The ones here, the ones I owe the most for standing by me through everything. And the ones farther away, those I've promised better lives in a united Albion.' He looked up at Merlin, eyes large and deep with a sadness that made Merlin ache for him. 'Am I about to fail them? Have I done the wrong thing to subject them to this?'

Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. 'You didn't do this, my love. I don't think your people's chances are worse in Albion than they were in the smaller realms. As for the people of Camelot, they are as proud of you as I am. They are also proud of being the heart of a kingdom bigger and better than any other.' He leaned down and kissed Arthur's forehead. 'Whatever happens, you haven't failed them. You've given them a lot.'

'If they lose it all, though… their property and prosperity - and lives, Merlin, so many are losing their lives! Then I have failed. I already have.' He looked out again, away from Merlin. 

'You are not to blame for this invasion. Nor for not knowing where they'd strike. There's time, Arthur. This has only just begun. There's time to push them back into the sea they came from.' He squeezed Arthur's shoulder tightly. 'If anyone can do that, it's you.' He believed that with the very core of his being.

. . .

Getting Percival’s help was necessary for Merlin's plan. It was also somewhat risky. He'd have to count on the knight keeping quiet. There were parts of this that Merlin wasn't ready to share with anyone yet - not even Arthur. He had a strong suspicion of what he'd hear, but he wanted confirmation, he had to be sure.

He put his plan into motion when Percival and Leon once again brought Æthulf to the throne room. Everyone else was already seated, and Merlin waited for the two knights to join them before speaking.

'I'm sorry to speak up so quickly,' he began before Arthur had a chance to do his customary opening of the meeting. 'But I have something that will, I hope, help things along. With your permission I'd like to shield our words from being heard. In case our guest understands.'

Surprised looks were directed at him, a few murmurs heard, but then he was given a round of nods. 'Thank you,' Merlin said and put up a shield around them before continuing.  'Percival asked for a way to ensure our friend there speaks the truth. Well, I think I have it. It's not an easy fix. This cost me a lot of trouble to make and... I can't readily duplicate it. Just so you know that it's not a tool for just any questioning.' 

There were more surprised looks around the table, and more nods. 'We get it, Merlin,' Gwaine said. 'It's a big deal.' Percival nodded with great enthusiasm, and Merlin allowed a small smile.

'Right. Thanks. Okay... I'd actually like you all to leave for a moment. So I can get this done the right way. Would that be all right?' If he'd had any doubts about their willingness to trust him, he was shamed by the way everyone stood up instantly. 'Actually, Percival, could you stay? I need your powers of translation.' Merlin shot him a smile and Percival grinned back at him.

'Of course.' He sat down again while the rest of the council filed out of the room again. 

'Thanks for helping,' Merlin said when they'd gone, facing Percival. 'I actually have to ask even more of you and I know it might be a lot. If it's too much, that's fine, you can just leave as well. But hear me out before you decide. Okay?'

Percival frowned, concerned, but nodded. 'I'll listen,' he said, leaning back in his seat.

Merlin nodded, grateful. 'Good. Okay. So, the thing is... I have questions for him that I'd like to ask before the others enter. It's mostly one thing I need confirmation of. Again, I can probably do it without verbal confirmation, but that would help.'

'And this thing... is it pertinent to our chances?' Percival asked. 

'It is. But most of all it's something I need to know to prepare. Magically speaking. And I swear to you by the oath of the round table that I will share this with those who need to know when they need it. That goes for Arthur, first, and the round table second.' Merlin sat still, eyes locked with Percival's, well aware that this was the deciding moment.

It dragged out. For several seconds, they looked at each other and nothing happened. Until finally, Percival spoke. 'I'll do it. Your oath is one I trust. Have to trust. And I've never had any reason to doubt you, Merlin. Not since this brotherhood was formed.' 

Merlin heard the reservation in those words, understood the warning. There had been a time where he'd not been honest. When he'd kept the fact of his abilities from them for too long. From Arthur, most of all. They had moved past that and the bond shared around the table was a big part of that. He'd done all he could to deserve their trust since then.

'Thank you,' he said. 'All I need is for him to drink what I give him. It's a potion I'll mix with ale. He won't know it's in there, it smells like malt and will mix with the drink. We'll wait a while. Talk a little about whatever we like. When we're sure it works, I'll show him a picture and ask one question. That's all.'

Percival nodded. 'If that is all, I feel my trust in you may be justified,' he said and turned to get a pitcher and a few goblets, pouring drinks for all of them. He stood next to Merlin, turned towards Æthulf, regarding the man. It subtly shielded Merlin from sight and he poured the potion - save for a few drops - into one goblet, then stood with both of them and let the sound shield fall.

'Here,' he gave the laced one to Percival. 'Let's give our guest a chance to drink before we talk.' He sipped from his own drink while Percival took the cup to Æthulf and untied his left arm. Soft words were spoken while Merlin kept his distance to let the man feel less threatened. Apparently they hadn't raised suspicion, perhaps because Æthulf had seen all three cups poured. He drank slowly. 

As they stood there, Percival began to speak. It sounded like small-talk, and Æthulf responded. Single-word answers, for the most part, and Percival began to draw Merlin into the conversation by passing questions and answers back and forth. After a few minutes, Æthulf's responses became less guarded, more fully formed, and finally, Percival asked him about the defences of his home town. When he explained them, Percival nodded to Merlin. 

'He's clearly there. Ask your question.' 

Merlin walked casually closer and pulled a small picture out from his pocket. It was one that had stood on Uther's desk, now covered in dust, preserved as it had stood when he died. Merlin had snatched it from there. He held it out, careful that Percival did not see. To his great credit, he didn't even try.

'The messenger from your goddess. On her white dragon. Did she look anything like this?' He heard Percival relay the question and saw Æthulf's eyes widen as he looked at the image. That was really all the response he needed. But there was verbal answer too.

'He says that yes, that's her, and how do you have such a picture of her. Has she been here too?' Percival said. 

Merlin nodded slowly. 'I figured he'd say something like that. Tell him I've met her too. That's all I can say right now.'

Percival repeated that while Merlin pocketed the miniature again. It was as he assumed. Morgana had somehow visited these people, riding Aithusa. 

Percival bound Æthulf’s arm again while Merlin called the others back in, and Arthur took over asking the questions. For Merlin, the rest of the meeting was hard to keep focused on. At least his potion proved that what Æthulf had told them the previous day had been true. Detail was added, but nothing that changed things as they stood. It did endear him to the circle, though, that he'd managed to get them reliable intelligence. 

Æthulf was taken back to his secured room, and the discussion turned to strategy, planning, talks of troop movements and placements, at which point Merlin at least kept up enough to understand what was going on. It would be important later. Even though it was a struggle when he was already half anticipating a talk with Kilgarrah.

. . .

As soon as he could, Merlin slipped out of the castle and far into the woods, to a clearing he'd used before to call Kligarrah to him. There, he called the dragon's name, asking him to come to his aid. In a matter of minutes, the dragon arrived, great wings beating up a storm as he landed.

'The Dragonlord called,' he said, bowing his great head in a mock-salute. 

Merlin ignored his usual sarcasm and cut right to the chase. 'Do you know what Aithusa is up to?' he asked. 'She's been seen with Morgana.' He held back the entire story, not sure how much he could trust the dragon.

'Ah.' The dragon looked almost shameful. 'So it has come to pass. I assume she's been seen with the invaders then?'

That could not be good. Not in any way. The knowledge in Kilgarrah's eyes, his tone, the way he sounded like he'd expected this but hoped otherwise. Merlin nodded.

'I feared it would come to that. Aithusa has long favoured your enemy, Merlin. You know that. Now I suppose they are truly working together to bring down Camelot.' The dragon lay down, slowly, resting his head on the grass so his eyes were level with Merlin's head. 'It was foretold, but not as certainty. It was one of the many ways Camelot might fall. So remember, nothing is set in stone. But this alliance of dragon, witch and vandals is a very potent and ominous one.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' Merlin mumbled, but then sobered. 'Sorry. I mean...' He sighed. 'This is my fault. For not killing her when I had the chance.'

Kligarrah didn't answer directly. He didn't have to. 'It might have served you better to listen to me,' he said. 'Though as you've pointed out many times before, you might have had I told you more.'

'I might, yes.'

'So we are both to blame, my friend.' Kilgarrah sounded almost sympathetic. Merlin smiled softly and patted his great front leg. He doubted the dragon much felt it, but a gesture had been extended and he wanted to return it. 'I shall not make that mistake again, Merlin. So listen carefully. Because now I will tell you what I know about Aithusa's part in your fate.'

Merlin nodded, falling silent so as not to disturb Kilgarray. He sat down on the grass, now getting damp with dew as night fell, and listened carefully. 

'There are many prophecies and predictions about these times, Merlin,' Kilgarrah began. 'About a warlock who's the greatest of his time, about a king who will be just and good and unite the lands. Even more, there are many tales of ways their efforts will be thwarted or reversed by their enemies. Many cautions for them to heed or their story will end too soon in a terrible doom.' He fixed one eye on Merlin. 'You and Arthur have avoided many of these, but the worst are yet to come. This time, I am not sure if you can avert it.'

Kilgarrah took a deep breath, sighed so Merlin's cloak flapped and his hair flew around his head. Then he continued. 'Aithusa will align herself with opposing forces of magic. That, of course, is Morgana. I had hoped to avoid this by raising her, by you being the one to call her into being, too. She should feel some sense of loyalty to the Dragonlord who gave her life. But she only feels resentment for being born at a time when dragons are almost extinct. She is also young, hot-headed, brash. She will not listen to reason or other opinions. Does that remind you of someone? Raised by one not her father, who loved her dearly, and violently rejecting his values. I think you see where this is going.'

'Of course.' Merlin nodded. It made a lot of sense. 'But Morgana is not a Dragonlord.' He felt a moment of doubt. 'Is she?'

'No, she is not. She can't control Aithusa. They are depending on each other in more conventional ways. This may be our chance, Merlin. But there is more.'

Merlin nodded. 'Tell me then. I'd better hear it all before making plans.'

'Indeed. You have grown wiser. Soon you'll fit the descriptions of one wise enough to match his power.' Merlin had the distinct impression the dragon was amused, perhaps even laughing at him inside. 'But I digress. The old tales say that a red dragon will be imprisoned by a king and a citadel built over it. This, as you also know, happened in a way when Uther made his name as a dragon slayer and placed me under Camelot. He took the name Pendragon then, to mock me and my kind and remind everyone of his great accomplishment. Some of the tales say that this happens when a red and a white dragon fight - one dies and the other becomes prisoner. Others separate those two events.'

Merlin's head snapped up at the mention of a fight. 'You mean... you... and Aithusa... That would be terrible. The devastation. And one of you - at least one of you - would die! It would be the end of the dragons!'

Kilgarrah raised his head enough to nod. 'Indeed it would. Which is why I must do all I can to reason with Aithusa. Merlin... I know you can order both of us to stop whatever we do. If we fight, you must try this. But you have to know that enraged dragons may turn on you instead. If we are too far gone, if the fight is already that bitter, we may not be in a state of mind where we're able to heed you - or even truly hear your words.'

'I promise I'll try anyway,' Merlin said. The thought was terrible. Kilgarrah may have once killed people, but he had not done so for many, many years. Instead he had sought to make up for his crimes by helping Camelot; somewhere in that process, he'd gone from a rather intimidating ally to Merlin's friend. 'I will try. Even if I risk turning both of you against me.'

'Thank you, Dragonlord.' Kilgarrah's voice was softer than Merlin had ever heard it before. There was no doubt this mattered very much to his friend. 'I will try to seek her out and reason with her, but for now I will do much to avoid a fight.'

'We have more than enough fights, my friend,' Merlin said. 'Take care.'


	4. Lancelot du Lac

The next weeks were filled with nervous energy throughout Camelot. New reports came in daily, telling of towns that had fallen to the invading forces. It was now clear that there were three main armies marching through Albion. One had landed in the northeast, one to the far southeast, while the last had landed in the middle of the south coast. They were all heading towards Camelot, leaving destruction in their wake. Thus, the situation was becoming increasingly grave. The invading forces were pushing further and further into Albion proper, spreading and gaining footholds, even support from some local lords who undoubtedly hoped for a better deal or perhaps to be spared. In Camelot, the king rarely left his council room. Instead he was pacing, poring over maps and going over every possible strategy he or his council could think of. 

Merlin desperately needed to think, to plan. They needed help. It was getting harder for him to concentrate in the castle, so he took himself out into the woods one morning to clear his head. The atmosphere in Camelot was so dark and grim he found it impossible to think any thoughts other than those of death. His dreams were increasingly troubled as well, filled with faces of angry people, hateful words, dragons fighting. He had to get away to think.

The lake at Avalon was still, only a few ripples disturbing the surface. Merlin had come here in search of _something_. He wasn't sure what he was searching for. Answers, of some kind. Hope. Anything to help them now. A part of Merlin wanted to summon Kilgarrah. If for nothing else than to talk to him. It might be a leftover from his early years in Camelot, but the great dragon sometimes felt like the best person to discuss things with. Not that Merlin ever got straight talk, though nowadays Merlin was as cagey as any dragon. At least that put them on an even footing, which was good. Few beings in this world were Merlin's peer, and fewer yet were also a friend. In friendship, being even and equal is key.

He'd dismissed that impulse. It wasn't productive. The dragon would not be able to add anything right now. It was not long since they had last spoke, and summoning Kilgarrah from whatever he was currently doing would not serve any purpose other than making Merlin feel better. That was not enough reason.

Instead he sat down and stared out over the water, towards the small island in the centre of the lake. Mist obscured parts of it from time to time, waving back and forth, rendering the isle partially invisible now and again. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the magic radiating towards him in bursts corresponding to the clouds. It was a different magic than that of the sidhe. He'd had no further encounters with them since the time Arthur had nearly drowned here. What happened on that island was not directly linked to the fae folk, that much he was sure of.

It was a strong magic that resided out there, though. Merlin had been aware of it for a few years now, ever since he'd grown enough into his own power to be able to sense it properly. As if the island had accepted him as worthy of knowing about it. Even now, as he sat here watching it, he got whiffs of a scent like muted lavender and walnuts. It felt like the magic was stirring out there, more active than usual. Merlin had never been there, knew instinctively, by way of the magic in his body, that he was not welcome. Not yet. Just as he knew that he would one day go there, when it was time. What that activity meant he had no idea, but it was still not calling him, though he felt as if the time to visit might be growing near. As exhilarating as the thought was, he also feared what that might herald. Now was a time where dark clouds were gathering, and the thought that he would need what that island held didn't exactly bode well.

How strange it was to think that he'd buried people he loved deeply here. In this lake. Freya, then Lancelot, the two people he'd confided in about his magic before anyone but Gaius knew. He wondered now if he'd been drawn here by a subconscious pull from the island. 

Merlin inched closer to the lake. On a whim he pulled off his boots and socks and sat on a rock, dipping his feet in the shallows by the shore. The water was cool and pleasant, the sun was out and the feeling of nature all around him pressed slowly in, dispelling some of the darkness in his mind. For a moment, he could almost forget the reality of war.

A change in the light made him look up. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there; he'd let his mind wander freely, dreaming himself away while the sun and wind caressed his skin. The sun was at his back, but the light he was sensing now was from the front. From the island. 

Merlin stood up, quickly, a spell of protection already on his lips, hand outstretched. He let it drop when he saw the quality of the light. White-gold, brilliant, strong. There was a faint sound as of a distant flute playing a tiny snippet of a haunting melody, and then all was back to normal. The light was gone as quick as a snuffed-out candle. 

Still, he kept his eyes trained on the island, wary, while he found his socks and boots again. It was always better to be careful. Despite his watchful eye, he couldn't pin-point when the boat appeared. One moment it was simply there, in the water, leaving the island, and there was a figure sitting in it.

Merlin slowly backed up till he was hidden by the nearest trees, and added a spell to make himself blend in. The boat was drifting nearer, headed for the widest stretch of beach some 20 yards to Merlin's right. The figure in it was dressed in white. A simple robe, Merlin noticed as the boat approached. There was something very familiar about this figure, too. A familiarity that made his heart sink in Merlin's chest. Surely, he was mistaken.

He wasn't. That much became clear only moments after when the figure got out of the boat. It was Lancelot. There was absolutely no doubt. Merlin could feel a knot in his stomach, worried tension, scared of what this meant now, at this stage. How had this happened? Why had nothing pointed to anyone trying to do something like this? Especially since he had made sure to lay the Shade of Lancelot so firmly to rest those many years ago. It wasn't possible to break through that veil once again. 

Unless this was some new magic he knew nothing of. It would have to be very powerful indeed. He had come from the island... That gave Merlin pause. He had so far only considered the magic residing there beneficial. Druidic lore backed him up on this. Even the few veiled references in Gaius' books had pointed to it being ancient, mystic and a force for good - albeit one that worked in ways often incomprehensible to humans.

Merlin stayed hidden and watched Lancelot. The past provided a very strong warning; he would not risk anything, not dare place any trust in the one who stood there. He might not even be Lancelot.

The boat was moving again now that Lancelot had disembarked. He had not touched it, but it seemed to dislodge itself from the bank and slide away.

'No. Wait.' Lancelot took a few steps towards it. 'What do I do? Where do I go? Where _am_ I even?' 

That was different. He sounded lost to Merlin's ears. Frightened, even. The Shade Morgana had sent had known what he wanted and needed, had been directed clearly by her. This was not at all like that. 

Lancelot looked towards the island. 'Don't just leave me here!' he yelled. 'You can't do this! I didn't ask to come here!'

There was no answer, not even a whiff of the wonderful scent of magic. No flute either. Nothing.

Lancelot sighed, loud enough that Merlin could hear it, and turned away. It was clearly him. He looked exactly as he had the day he walked through the rift in the world. There were even some cuts and bruises on him that matched what Merlin thought he remembered from that day. It was uncanny to say the least. He kept expecting Lancelot to do something, or at least recognise where he was and go somewhere, but he didn't. Instead, he sat down on the same rock that Merlin had previously occupied. Now that he was even nearer, Merlin could see him very clearly. He hadn't aged a day.

Slowly, Merlin stepped forwards. He could nearly touch Lancelot. Part of him wanted to, another wanted to throw every spell in his arsenal at him to make sure he wasn't yet another Shade or some kind of apparition or abomination. He stood there, hand outstretched towards the man who had once been his closest friend, and waited. What for, he didn't know, but he waited, hoping perhaps that he would be able to sense what was going on with Lancelot. 

Nothing happened. Lancelot didn't seem to realise Merlin was nearby, and sat there, looking rather lost - and deep in thought - while Merlin stood still as a statue. After a while, he slowly backed away and dropped the spell that would conceal him. It wasn't going to get him anywhere to just stand here. He'd have to talk to Lancelot, convince him to let him check what had happened, and use that as a pretence to send him back to wherever it was he was supposed to be. In the meantime, it was important that he didn't get back to Camelot and cause a stir. Merlin wasn't sure Arthur would easily suffer seeing him again.

That, of course, left him with the obvious question of how you say hello to someone who's been dead for more than ten years. Who was last seen trying to destroy someone you love. Who was once your friend. 

Merlin took a deep breath and stepped out of the grove, onto the shore of the lake, and walked slowly towards his old friend.

'Lancelot.' He kept his voice soft, tried to avoid it being full of suspicion, but he could hear the way it was guarded.

Lancelot's head whipped around and his eyes widened. 'Merlin!' He jumped up, a wide smile on his face, and had both hands on Merlin's shoulders before he realised something was wrong.  His smile faded to a look of concern, and Merlin felt sort of bad for putting it there. 'Merlin...' Lancelot searched his face. 'You're old. Older.' He blinked. 'What's happened? Where are we even? How long was I gone?'

'That depends...' Merlin could see that wasn't helping in the least, so he hurried to continue. 'I mean, what's the last thing you remember?' 

'Going into the rift, of course...' Lancelot was obviously confused, and Merlin wished to the heavens he didn't have to consider that it might all be an act.

He nodded anyway. 'What happened after that? From your perspective?'

'At first it was dark...' Lancelot's eyes unfocused, seeing not Merlin in front of him, but a memory. 'I could still hear and feel all those spirits around me, some circled me and gradually I understood that they were trying to draw me in and welcome me. I didn't want to become one of them.'

Merlin nodded. This sounded like it would be a long story. 'Please. Go on. I want to understand what happened to you,' Merlin said. 'How you can be back.' Lancelot nodded. He looked less unsettled now and Merlin pasted on a soft smile to keep him calm.

'I think I said something. Like “I don't want to be welcome here” or something and there was a piercing scream that faded and then a lot of light broke through and I was... transported. I don't know how or really where, but it was to a very different place. Wonderful.' His face lit up in a way Merlin had never seen before on anyone. Bliss and joy and something deeper, something behind his eyes; he almost gave off light in remembering this.

'I was there. Existed. Time didn't, though. I just … was. There was no pain, no sadness, no sense of loss. Only a feeling of everything being _right_. And then... I was here. There.' He nodded towards the island. 'It wasn't like going in there, not at all. I was delivered again by light and there were voices, but no darkness or screams. The voices were... of the light.' He was clearly struggling to put words to the indefinable. 'Made of grace,' he concluded and met Merlin's eyes, back in the moment again. 'Do you know what it was? What happened to me?'

Merlin had honestly never heard anything like it. 'I don't. It's... very strange.' He scratched his head. 'I'd say unprecedented...' Only not quite, but that was for later. 'Those voices, when you were put on the island. What did they say?'

Lancelot frowned. 'That's the thing. It made no sense.'

'Try anyway. Please? It might be important.'

'They said... They said something like “It's time to return.” And then something more... What was it?  Something about Camelot in dire need and... “to be Lancelot of the Lake as you were meant to be. It's time to return and be saved or damned on your own merit, not as a tool.” I think that was it...' 

Merlin looked at him as if the answer would somehow jump out at him from inside Lancelot. Of course no such thing happened, he hadn't really expected it to. 'I'll have to think about this,' he said. 'I... I think I want to check some books. I might come back and try some spells on you, if that's okay?'

'Yes, sure...' Lancelot's brow was furrowed. 'Come back? Why? Where from?'

'Camelot. Oh!' Merlin could've smacked himself. 'Right. You don't know where we are! We're in the woods near the city. This is the lake at Avalon.'

'Don't think I've heard of it,' Lancelot said. 'But why don't we just go to Camelot, then?' He got a strange expression. 'Don't tell me... don't say it's been that long. That... that it's no more.'

'No, no, it still stands, Arthur is king, it's okay.' Only it wasn't quite. Arthur wouldn't be pleased to see Lancelot again. Merlin wasn't sure he'd ever properly explained to Arthur that Lancelot hadn't exactly been himself when he'd returned last time. 'We just... can't. Not yet.'

'Why? And how long _has_ it been?' 

He owed Lancelot more answers. Only, he wasn't sure this really was Lancelot. He was increasingly convinced it might be, but he wouldn't take any risks. The times were too uncertain and his showing up just now was far too convenient for anyone who wanted spies inside the walls of Camelot, in Arthur's court, maybe even at the round table. 

'Many years,' he said. That was safe to answer. 'More than ten.'

'More than...' Lancelot sat down on the rock once more. 'Goodness...' He looked up at Merlin again. 'Please tell me how things are. That voice said something about dire need. Is everything all right? Is Gwen... is she... safe?'

Merlin felt a stab in his gut. That was a warning sign. Last Lancelot had arrived in Camelot it had been to seduce Gwen away from Arthur and demoralise the young king. Today it would be an even worse crime to sway her loyalties. 

'Gwen is fine. She's pregnant, Lancelot. She's the queen of Camelot and she and Arthur haven't yet had an heir. It's been very hard for them.' He moved a rock from further down the shore and sat on it, facing Lancelot. 'It's a crucial time.'

He could see Lancelot's jaw working, eyes deep with sadness, but also how hard he struggled to accept what Merlin was saying. 'It's been more than ten years,' he said softly. 'They were already together before... She didn't want me. That's why I... I figured I could at least help ensure a world for her.'

'And you did!' Merlin reached across and clasped his arm. Real or not, he couldn't let his friend hurt like this without at least offering comfort. 'You did. It worked. They... they've been happy.' For the most part, at least. He didn't fancy elaborating just yet, and he was not about to tell Lancelot what no-one but he, Arthur and Gwen knew - that there was more than one person to share Arthur's bed. 'Apart from the trouble conceiving and having an heir.'

'So... you don't want to shock her, is that it? Why you can't bring me back there?' 

It wasn't just that, but it was an explanation Lancelot would understand and would heed more than any, so Merlin nodded. 'Yes. I don't want to risk her, Lancelot. She's finally starting to hope that this time she might carry her child to term. A shock might jeopardise that. At least let me prepare her. Arthur too.'

Lancelot nodded, readily accepting that. 'Of course. I wouldn't want any harm to come to her or her child. Certainly not to a future prince or princess of Camelot.' 

'I know you wouldn't,' Merlin assured him, while still wondering if he did indeed know that and if he trusted that Lancelot wouldn't. 'There's a hut nearby I've used from time to time. You can stay there for now. I'll return soon. I want to research what could've caused you to come back and maybe do those spells I mentioned. Before we know that... I think it might be too great a risk to bring you into the city.' He needed time. Time to research, time to perhaps talk to the great dragon - now he really had a reason!

They walked towards the little hut nearby while Merlin explained a few of the major events of the last ten years. He was careful not to mention the ongoing crisis. The voices Lancelot reported hearing had hinted at that, he was sure, but he still had no idea who might have spoken those words and what their agenda might be. He would prefer to err on the side of caution this time.

. . . 

He spent the rest of the day and half the night scouring every book, every scroll, every scrap of a note in his library, and found precious little that was of any use. To be honest, he hadn't really expected to, but he had to at least try. The island was still not mentioned anywhere, though he began to suspect there might be some vague link to the myth of The Isle of the Blessed. Still, it wasn't literally that. The location was all wrong, and the happenings did not match up either. However, the sensations did; the light, the sound, the scents.

Where had Lancelot been? Clearly outside this world, somewhere time had no meaning or didn't pass, as evidenced both by his story and his lack of aging. All Merlin could find were hints that other realms existed alongside this one; that of the Sidhe was one, but he was very sure that wasn't where Lancelot had been. They wouldn't have taken in a mortal man like that - and if they had, it was unlikely they'd let him go again. No, this was different, and Merlin had the distinct feeling that the magic involved was not one mortals could easily work. So maybe it wasn't a mortal that had the answers. It really was time to speak to Kilgarrah again.

Merlin made his way out into the woods, to the clearing where he'd first spoken to the dragon after his father had died and made him a Dragonlord. It was always a good place to meet. There, he called the dragon, the words flowing easily. Within minutes he heard the sound of great wings and the dragon came into view, a darker patch against the dark, cloudy night. 

'You called, warlock,' Kilgarrah said in his surprisingly soft voice. 'I presume you're not calling simply to ask about troop movements in the east. Of which there have been some, but nothing you will need to know before your own messengers get here.'

Merlin almost rolled his eyes but resisted. Typical that he would taunt like that. 'I didn't,' he told the dragon. 'I called because Lancelot returned. Again.'

'The knight? Returned from the dead for a second time? I thought you had ensured he could not be raised again.' Kilgarrah's tone accused Merlin of negligence, not that he could really blame him.

'I did,' Merlin informed him cooly. 'I think he's real this time, not just a puppet or whatever you want to call what he was last. I think... it really is him. With his own free will. But I want to know if that's even possible, and I want to test it.'

'I see...' Kilgarrah hummed to himself, his head swaying slowly from side to side as he thought. 'I presume you've read all your old mentor left you - and what volumes you've collected since - and found nothing?'

Merlin nodded. 'I found one thing, a reference to The Blessed Isles, that mentioned the same scent and sound I sometimes experience near Avalon.' 

'Yes, yes...' The dragon didn't seem surprised, so Merlin pounced. 

'You know something. About that place. About Avalon. Tell me!'

'I'm really not sure-'

 _'I command you, Dragon, to tell me!'_ Merlin spoke the language of the Dragonlords again, not even conscious of deciding to do so, and Kilgarrah bowed his great head.

'As you wish. But heed my warning. You will not like the answers. At least not all of them.'

'Consider me warned.' Merlin looked up, arms crossed. Warnings like that became frayed at the edges when they were routine. 'Talk to me. We agreed the other day that it's best I'm warned.'

'About some things, yes,' Kilgarrah said. 'Others may simply get in the way. But as you commanded me, I'll tell you. The island at Avalon is a portal,' Kilgarrah began. 'Some day it will play a part in your and Arthur's destiny.'

'And this is that part?' Merlin asked. 

'I doubt it.' The dragon's tone was so dry, Merlin felt the dust. 'However, the death of Lancelot was, when it happened, a surprise to those of us who know fragments of the prophecies. He was supposed to be there towards the end.'

Merlin felt cold settle in his stomach. 'And now he's here...' The meaning was clear.

'Now he is here,' Kilgarrah confirmed, nodding slowly. 'Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean that the end of your shared destiny is coming to an end. In fact, it can't mean that no matter what. It does, however, mean that certain other events are nearer now - and that the island of Avalon will soon play its part.'

'I presume by the “it can't mean the end” you're referring to the “once and future” thing,' Merlin said. He'd heard that a lot over the years. 

'I do indeed.' Kilgarrah nodded again, he sounded amused now. He knew full well that Merlin had little patience for his duplicitous and circumspect way of speaking. These days he would at times be more direct. 'You may be annoyed right now, warlock, but when the time comes, you will be grateful for that knowledge. Your destiny and Arthur's are forever entwined. Forever is a very long time.'

Something in the way he said that made it different from the other times he'd alluded to this, to a separation. To death. Merlin got the distinct impression the great dragon thought the time when Merlin would need that advice was running closer than he let on. He chose not to ask about it, let Kilgarrah think he'd been sneakier than he had.

'So that island,' he said instead. 'It's a portal and you think it deposited Lancelot here so he'll be around when the time comes?'

'Yes. It makes sense. Did he say anything about where he'd been?'

Merlin retold Lancelot's story as far as he knew it, stressing the features of wherever Lancelot had been. The light, the calm, the lack of passage of time. All the while, Kilgarrah was unusually silent.

'I see...' he said once Merlin finished. 'That is most fascinating. I have never heard of such a place before. Yet... it is reminiscent of some accounts of those who have been abducted by the fae folk. Particularly the lack of time. Though then he'd remember _doing_ things. He'd remember one hour or day or year. No action at all is different. I would... suppose... that Lancelot was taken somewhere by a higher power. I know not what such a thing might be or where it could reside.'

'A higher power?' Merlin blinked. 'What do you mean?'

'God or gods,' Kilgarrah said. 'Humans have many of such, dragons have no need. Not directly.' Again Merlin could hear that there was much he didn't say, but he was willing to let him keep his secrets about draconic religion. 

'God or gods, though,' Merlin mused. 'I don't know.' 

'Neither do I, dragonlord. But it is the only explanation that can fit. At this time.'

Merlin found himself nodding. Again, this pointed strongly to having very little time before whatever end it was he and Arthur would have. Kilgarrah was not yet willing to tell him more, and Merlin didn't want to force him. Not yet. He knew where to go to learn more before he made any further decisions.


	5. The Crystal Cave

Over the course of the 10-15 years since Arthur ascended the throne, Merlin had learned how to work the crystal cave. Or, perhaps not work it, as such, but he no longer feared it as he once had, and he knew what to do with the information it foisted on him. It would show him something and whatever that was would come to pass. He could not change that, but sometimes he could subtly influence it, make the outcome slightly better (or worse if desirable). At the very least, he could brace and prepare for it. Sometimes he wished he wouldn't have to, and it was with a heavy heart he entered the cave, full of worry for what it would show him now. That said, he needed to know things and the cave was the obvious answer. Between the war, Gwen's pregnancy and Lancelot's appearance, he could use just about any information it would give him. Talking to Kilgarrah yesterday had helped, but it was not going to be enough.

The scene playing out in front of him as he entered was one he'd seen before. It had presented itself at intervals ever since he returned to the cave the first time Gwen conceived, and over the years it got progressively longer and more detailed. It had also occurred with higher frequency, causing Merlin to have a clear sense that it was growing imminent. Each time he saw it, his heart sank into his stomach and this time it was even worse. The colours were bright, sharp, so real he felt he could touch the pictures.

He was standing on a battlefield, dead people scattered all over, many in the livery of Camelot. Arthur's standard was nearby, but the king was nowhere in sight. Morgana was facing him, and he was yelling at her, cursing her. If he leaned close against the crystals, he got sound now, which was rare and told him just how significant this event was. His words were accusing, berating her for something, asking her if this was what she had wanted. The oddest thing about it, the part that made him think harder and harder, was the images of himself. He was old, in the shape of 'Dragoon' or 'Emrys' or whatever they called him, but he was also himself, almost as he was now. The younger man overlaid with the older, the image flickering, showing them superimposed or switching between them in an irregular fashion. He had no idea what it meant.

As the image got more distant, he turned to leave the cave again – it would not show him anything else right now, he knew that much. One could not force the crystals, he’d learned that lesson thoroughly. But he halted when the image didn't start over from the beginning as expected. Instead it was as if the person looking at Morgana and he was walking backwards, then turning a little and moving forward again, swooping behind Merlin and towards the standard.

Merlin gasped at the sight, felt his knees shake and his stomach churn. He almost threw up. Caught himself on a stalagmite and looked down into it, only to see that the image had paused. No, not paused, there was movement. Relief flooded him for a second, then his stomach knotted again. Arthur was too pale. Lying on the battlefield, pale, breathing, but red, hot blood was seeping through his armour at several places. It looked bad. Very bad. Perhaps beyond magic.

Merlin knelt down and buried his head in his hands. He sat for several minutes till the crystals dug into his flesh too painfully. He stood up then, only to be faced with the scene again, just as the imaginary onlooker pulled back and moved towards the king's standard.

He fled. Stumbled over a tiny stalagmite, fell, rolled, and practically scrambled out of the cave on his hands and knees. Outside it was sunny and pleasant and it felt completely unreal after what he'd just seen so vividly inside. He lay on the ground, shaking, then gathered himself up and got on his horse again. Two things were abundantly clear to him: No-one could ever know this, and he would have to return very soon in the hope of seeing more. It was the last thing he ever wanted to see, but he had to.

There had to be a way to save Arthur. It was too soon. Camelot's golden age couldn't be a mere few years. It wasn't possible, couldn't be possible. They had fought so hard for this, suffered and cried for it, Arthur still believed they weren't there yet, despite Merlin's evidence to the contrary. This couldn't be the end. He'd always taken heart that the scene showed him as an old man, but today he'd seen the dual layers of himself far stronger – and Arthur... Arthur had been the man he was now, in his prime, hair golden with flecks of silver, shallow lines around his eyes where he smiled.

As he rode towards Camelot, his thoughts and wits gathering, Merlin kept returning to the dual image of himself. Did it mean he would be disguised? Was it possible he was in two times at once? Were there two possible futures there – one where he was young and one where he was old? Would he be able to turn events to one of those, so he could return to see an old Arthur dying in place of the strong man he'd seen today?

. . .

Merlin avoided seeing Arthur for most of the day, knowing too well it would be hard to hide his reaction. The horror might reflect in his eyes, and he couldn't let that happen. Arthur would never relent till Merlin told him what had caused him to look that way, and then much might be lost. If Arthur believed he was destined to die soon, he'd act as if he were supposed to and then might fulfil the vision.

Instead he worked in his tower room, going over every book or document he had ever come across that contained words on the cave, or the concept of prophesies and divinations in general. It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know, but it had been worth a try. It had been years since he'd last gone over those papers, and he had seen and learned much since, so he might have been able to get something new from old knowledge. That it wasn't the case was, however, not a surprise.

When he finally did come face to face with Arthur that night, he wasn't prepared for it at all. He was in the midst of putting his books back on their shelves when his door was pushed open. It wasn't uncommon for people to seek him out up here in private, or for Arthur to send someone for him, so he turned around to ask them to wait a moment and was faced with Arthur himself.

'Oh. It's you.' He blinked, genuinely surprised, and had a brief flash of relief that this covered for the deeper shock he felt at how similar Arthur's face was to that he'd seen in the cave.

'The same.' Arthur slowly entered the room, always a little hesitant when he wasn't yet invited into Merlin's private chambers. It was a sign of respect. 'Am I disturbing you?'

Merlin looked at the small stack of books. 'Not much. I was just putting these back. I'm nearly done. Did you need anything?'

Arthur's slow smirk told Merlin more than his words. 'Yeah. A good deal, in fact. If you are not going out tonight?'

Merlin returned the smile. 'I'm not.' Seeing Arthur, alive and well, made him want to get closer to him, feel his heart beating, his skin against his own. To assure himself that it was real, that they were still here, that there was hope. 'What did you have in mind?'

Arthur leaned against the doorframe and his smile widened. 'Have dinner with me?'

'I'd like that.' Merlin met his eyes, seeing slow fire there. 'Was that all..?' He knew very well it wasn't, not by far, but turned away to put the last books away.

'No.' Merlin turned back as Arthur stepped closer. 'No, it's only the beginning.' He took Merlin's hand and pulled him closer. Merlin wound his arms around Arthur as they kissed. 'It's so good to have you here for a while. That's the best part of this whole terrible situation,' Arthur muttered against Merlin's lips, punctuating the sentence with kisses.

'I don't see you enough,' Merlin agreed, running his fingers through the hair at the back of Arthur's neck. 'I don't love you near enough either.'

'No, you don't.' A hint of Arthur's youthful, teasing smile appeared, then turned into a pout. 'I'm neglected. You'd think a king could get some of what he wanted, but no. You are never here and Gwen's bed is closed to me on most nights as well.'

'You wanted it that way,' Merlin reminded him, knowing the tease for what it was, and kissed his lips anyway.

'I know.' Arthur exaggerated the pout and Merlin chuckled softly. 'I still have needs, though, and I _thought_ you'd be here more. I imagined having a handful of children by now, laughing and playing. You in my bed every night and a happy, fulfilled queen.'

The truth in his words, the fact that he did have some reason to feel sad about these things, sobered Merlin. This time, he kissed Arthur deep, soft, and in earnest. 'I know,' he said. 'It... wasn't supposed to be this way. Camelot prospers, but you do not.' He ran his fingers through Arthur's hair again, cupped his cheek and kissed him once more, searched his face when they parted again. 'My golden prince. You are still that to me, Arthur. You always will be.'

Arthur smiled softly, a sad kind of smile, and then hugged Merlin so tight he thought he might have bruised. 'I love you,' Arthur whispered against his neck, little kisses landing there. 'Love you so much.'

All Merlin could do was moan, his head tipped to the side to let Arthur explore. His words came in soft huffs when he spoke, breath speedy with arousal. 'I love you too. A lot. Hate being away from you. Need you with me. Near me.' He could feel Arthur growing hard against him, was very aware of his own arousal and the hot need building in his groin. They weren't going to make it till after dinner at this rate. 'Arthur. Let's move this downstairs.'

'Mm. Yes,' Arthur said huskily against him. 'Are you going to move us or are you tired? I promise I'll keep my hands off till we get there.'

Merlin laughed softly and with a mental push transported both of them several floors down to the centre of Arthur's large bedroom. 'Not really tired. Yet. I expect that will change soon.'

Arthur raised his head and grinned at him. 'You are so convenient,' he said, poking Merlin in the chest, then kissed him. 'Any more clever tricks?'

'They are not tricks and not for your amusement,' Merlin pointed out, pretending to be stern. Then he focused his thoughts for a moment and Arthur's clothes disappeared only to reappear next to his bed. 'But they are for mine. At least some of the time.'

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, lips parted slightly, a sure sign of arousal, and Merlin forgot that he'd been teasing Arthur and kissed him. 'Help me undress?' he whispered against his lips and Arthur's hands were on his trousers, pulling at strings, rushed and fumbling, while Merlin tore his shirt off. He nearly stumbled getting out of his boots and trousers, but Arthur caught his arm and steadied him. They were only a few yards from the bed, but getting there was a mess of tangled limbs and crashing kisses.

They got onto Arthur's bed in something resembling a controlled fall and Arthur's strong arms pulled Merlin on top of him. 'Will you fuck me this time?' he mumbled between their kisses, his hands running over Merlin's back and arse. 'Want to feel you, deep inside, know I belong with you.'

Merlin swallowed a groan. It would never cease to amaze him when Arthur said things like that. It would never stop being insanely arousing that he meant them. That he, Merlin, could possess something as strong and beautiful as Arthur in all his glory.

'Yeah,' he muttered, hands on Arthur's chest. Arthur pushed up when he teased his nipple. Always so responsive under Merlin's touch. 'Want to fuck you. Just like you need it.' He ground down on Arthur, their cocks trapped between them, sliding close together, and Arthur pushed up, answering the movement.

'Do it now,' he said, meeting Merlin's eyes, and despite the wording it sounded like a plea. He pulled his legs up on either side of Merlin, who slid just a little lower to get his knees on the bed while reaching for the vial of oil on the table next to Arthur's bed. He didn't have to look, he knew where it would be.

'Look at me,' he said and Arthur's eyes snapped up and met his, dark with lust and need. Merlin had oil on his fingers and pushed one into Arthur. There was a low, soft moan and Arthur's eyelids fluttered, but then he focused on Merlin again. 'Good,' Merlin whispered. 'Keep looking at me.' He wanted to see it, the way Arthur opened to him mentally as well as physically, the need in his eyes, the way his breath hitched; every little reaction. Arthur nodded, lips parting again, his breath speeding up. Merlin pushed a second finger into him and Arthur's back arched. Moments later he relaxed and pulled his legs up tighter, spread them more. He was nearly ready. Merlin could tell easily from his reactions as much as from the way he was relaxing around his fingers.

'Oh, Merlin,' Arthur breathed. 'Oh. Yes.' Merlin twisted his fingers in him and Arthur writhed on the bed in a way that made Merlin's cock jump.

'Yes,' he whispered. 'All ready for me now.' He pulled his fingers out and guided his cock, giving Arthur just long enough to try to push against him for contact before he pushed in, slowly, very slowly.

'Ah. God, stop teasing,' Arthur moaned, grabbing Merlin's arms. 'Not so slow. 'm not going to break.'

Merlin knew that, but he liked to tease Arthur – and no matter what he said, it was really much better to start slow. There had been times in their youth when one of them had been too eager and someone ended up sore. Teasing was the icing on the cake of caution. So he smirked at Arthur and very deliberately didn't speed up. He was fully buried in Arthur now and stopped, held still.

'Merlin...!' Arthur sounded as whiny as a child. 'Please.' Merlin slowly pulled back and then pushed in again, driving a drawn-out moan from Arthur. 'Aaah... God, don't stop, Merlin.'

This time he didn't. As much as teasing Arthur was a delight, his own needs were driving him. And he needed this, wanted it, every bit as much as Arthur did. His slow, deep thrusts grew quicker, gradually harder. Arthur's grip on his arms tightened in response, his body moving, rocking his cock with each thrust from Merlin.

He was such a sight. His eyes were shut now, mouth slightly agape, beautiful. 'Arthur. Mm. Feels good,' Merlin managed to say, knowing it would turn Arthur on to hear it, just as he could feel his balls tighten when Arthur answered.

'Yes. So good. Fuck me, Merlin. Fuck me more.'

Merlin did, driven on by Arthur's words, losing track of time. All he could feel was Arthur, filling his senses. Moans in his ears, the musky scent of Arthur's skin like leather and cloth and steel, the intense feel of Arthur around him, tight, slick, warm, perfect.

Arthur's hand moved to his cock, stroking now, fast. He was slick, leaking clear fluid that Merlin could practically taste now, salty and tangy. 'Merlin,' Arthur groaned. 'Merlin.' A gasp and Arthur tensed. The shuddery feeling of his orgasm hit Merlin, pulsing around his cock and he kept going, allowing himself to really take what he needed now. To fuck Arthur the way they both wanted. Climax hit him and he was the one shaking, falling, dizzy, and was caught in Arthur's arms, cradled against him and listening to the pound of Arthur's heart and the rush of blood in his own veins.

Lying there, feeling Arthur's arms around him, both panting, it was hard to feel anything but happy. To think he'd feared seeing Arthur. Now that he'd successfully kept Arthur from realising something might be up, it seemed stupid that he'd ever worried. Here, now, it was all washed from him and replaced by the warm feeling of being held and loved.

Arthur's hand was slowly drifting over his skin, lazy, gentle, lulling Merlin into a cocoon of soft heat. When the touch stopped, he could hear Arthur's breathing even out, deepen. He was asleep. Merlin would have to wake him soon or they'd miss dinner and wake up at night, hungry. But for now, the king could rest. Merlin knew far too well that he rarely allowed himself much time for that.

That was another reason he had to work hard now. Arthur deserved more time. Not just to ensure his legacy and the safety of Camelot, but to _live_. He was still in his prime. Not a youth, but a man at the height of his strength and with enough wisdom garnered to be a truly magnificent ruler. The world owed Arthur a fuller life.

He could stop this. He not only had to, he could. This time, he would get it right. The warnings, the way to manipulate them, and he had time. He could keep track of how his actions changed the predicted future. Never had it been as important as this time, never had the stakes been as high. That was why he would succeed. Failing was simply not an option.


	6. Excalibur

The following morning, Merlin began to research harder than he’d ever done before. He needed a way to keep Arthur safe, to prevent what he'd seen in the cave. He knew very well that Arthur would never permit him to use any magic to protect him in the field. That, in Arthur's mind, would be unfair and he would not do it. He maintained he was no more important than his men, that he would risk the same things they did. So Merlin would, as little as he liked it, have to trick him. 

Aside from that, there was the ongoing problem of finding out what had happened to Lancelot. Even more, a way to ensure that he was who he said he was! Only when he'd found a way to ascertain that would he risk telling Arthur about his former knight's appearance. 

Merlin’s days were more than busy. Most days, he checked in on Gwen in the morning, then worked on finding any of those prophecies Kilgarrah mentioned. In the afternoons there were often meetings at the round table, or he helped Arthur and provided background knowledge for strategies. Every spare moment he had was spent on more research, yet he turned up no written trace of any of those prophecies.

Arthur was mounting counter-attacks. Most notably, he was, via a network of messengers (several of whom were Merlin's contacts) gathering a large force in the north and another focused on the more immediate area around Camelot. He was pulling in a lot of men for this, particularly near Camelot where it was imperative they strike back hard, fast and decisively. A loss there would mean a great risk of a final defeat, while a win would add significant momentum to the defence of Albion. 

Knowing how badly they needed knights, especially good leaders and strategists, was part of Merlin's decision making with regards to Lancelot. It took him a while, especially with the other things he was doing, but he managed to find a spell that would reveal if someone was fully human, body and soul. So a few days after he'd met Lancelot at the lake, he ventured out to the hut where he was hiding out. 

Lancelot was holding up all right, adjusting to being in the world and had mostly accepted that he had been gone for years. He was very hopeful about the spell, which was of course a good sign too, but not proof in itself. In his own words, he longed to get back to Camelot, to do some good if he was able. The spell would be the deciding factor, but Merlin wanted to be extra cautious. Thankfully Lancelot didn't know how magic most often worked, so he wouldn't be suspicious that Merlin asked him to drink a few drops of potion before working the spell.

As he'd expected, the spell worked out to Lancelot's advantage. There was no sign he was anything but fully human and fully alive. So Merlin promised to talk to Arthur about Lancelot's return. In some ways, he was glad. They _did_ need men like Lancelot very much. He was the best there was. At the same time, he was still concerned about what this mysterious appearance meant. That was not about to go away. At least talking, preparing Lancelot for what Camelot was like now, meant that they talked as the potion took effect. To Merlin's frustration it didn't give him any new information about Lancelot's experiences. Which meant he had to consider that the man didn't in fact know anything apart from what he'd already told. At least that was a point in his favour in terms of honesty.

. . .

As Merlin had expected, Arthur was suspicious about Lancelot's return.

'Are you out of your mind, Merlin?’ Arthur’s voice was terrible. Cold and hard. ‘He is not tricking me again. There's no way I'm letting him into this castle.’' Arthur's eyes were shooting angry sparks, fire to the ice of his voice. 'He forfeited his life then. Tell me where he is and I'll make sure this third lease on life will be very short indeed.'

'Arthur, hear me out,' Merlin said. He fought to stay calm. Yes, he understood why Arthur was angry, but he should at least listen before he judged. When it came to those he truly loved, Arthur was never able to see reason. Then he became the rash young man again, a lion, roaring and showing his teeth. 'It wasn't him last time. It was something else. His form, without his personality and soul. It was...' Merlin shook his head. 'It was Morgana and her petty attempts at keeping a girl she once loved from sitting on the throne.'

Arthur knew this, at least most of it, but he wasn't ready to listen anyway. 'I won't hear it, Merlin. He's not coming here and that's that.'

'Think, Arthur.' Merlin caught him by the arms, tempted to shake him like a child. 'Think. He's the best knight you ever had! And he's not aged. Arthur, he's young, strong, and extremely eager to prove himself again. Send him north. Let him lead the army up there. Give him that chance. What have you got to lose in that?'

'What have I got to lose?' Arthur was not as agitated any more, but the anger was still there. 'My wife, for one. And what about you? You were close.'

Merlin rolled his eyes. 'You're an idiot,' he said. 'Lancelot was my friend, but I just told you that I'm not about to trust him fully. Not yet. But I do want to give him a chance. And sending him north serves you well, Arthur. Either he leads that army like he can and they have success. Or he doesn't and you have reason to send him away. Or... he dies. In which case... problem solved.' He felt a bitter taste in his mouth saying that, but it was the truth.

Arthur levelled a narrow stare at Merlin. 'All right.' He nodded. 'Bring him in. I'm calling a council for tonight to deal with it. He will go north. Leon will go as well along with a few of the younger knights. We'll see how he does.'

And so it was. Three days later, a small group of knights left Camelot to join the muster up north and Lancelot was one of them. He was the only one who looked truly happy to be going. As Merlin saw them off, he caught the look Lancelot sent Gwen and was glad that Arthur's attention was elsewhere. But Lancelot had died once to please Gwen, to stay out of the way and preserve her chance for happiness with Arthur. He would keep his feelings to himself, especially now where he had everything to win by proving himself worthy of Arthur's trust. At any rate, he was sure Gwen wasn't interested anyway. She had never once expressed as much as an ounce of desire to be with anyone but Arthur. Since Lancelot disappeared, she’d been more than faithful.

. . .

With the war starting for real, things changed in Camelot. Ever since the return of the army that had lost that first battle, it had been sombre. Now, though, it was like laughter was gone. If any was heard, it was quickly muffled. There were fears. Tears as well. Worried and dark faces met you wherever you went. It felt like the summer had gone cloudy and dark instead of sunny.

There was urgency in the air as well. The local forces were gathering outside the city walls, getting ready to march out in a few days. In that energy there was hope, Merlin knew. Hard work could turn things around. Morale had taken a heavy hit with the first loss in open battle in many years. A win now would convince people that Albion was not about to fall, that the kingdom Arthur had built would last. A loss would ensure the end.

With so much at stake, Merlin, too, was working night and day, frantic in his search for answers, clues, help. The search for more information kept leading him to dead ends. Every time he thought he had a lead, it led him to nothing but enigmas or cold trails. He sent word out through his network of magic users - most of them druids - but so far he had heard nothing but regretful replies.

The constant failures caused him to focus on Arthur's safety in other ways. If he couldn't find anything about how to avoid disaster, he'd simply have to make it less likely. He'd have to keep Arthur safe. His plan had long involved some kind of spell-work to achieve that, but the issue was how. Especially since he'd have to trick Arthur or go behind his back. 

When the idea came to him, it was so perfect in its simplicity and beauty that he cursed himself for being so slow to have not thought of it much sooner. He would make Arthur a scabbard for Excalibur. If it was a gift from him, or from Gwen, Arthur would use it. Such an item would always be with him in battle. Maybe he'd even confess to it being magic and help keep Excalibur sharp. Not that the sword needed it, forged by dragonfire as it were. Still... it would give Arthur added incentive to use it.

Merlin set to work on the scabbard immediately. One of the old words for creating magic was _weaving_ a spell, and it seemed very fitting for what he did here. Using the best scabbard money could buy in Camelot, Merlin wove magic into it. He used gold threads and a few precious items, imbuing every stitch and movement with protective magic. He worked for days, only stopping to eat or sleep, channeling all he had into it.

Some would make Arthur less at risk for being struck; a slim difference when used on a relatively small object, but it would do something. Others would stay the flow of blood from a fresh wound, giving him more time to get to safety and make recovery easier. Another yet kept the wearer's head clear, even in the face of injury. Merlin was privately most proud of the last, but the middle was the one that would make the biggest difference. 

Not only was the result one of the most powerful objects Merlin knew of, but it was also beautiful when he was done with it. Deep red leather, gold threads, several tiny precious stones. It was truly worthy of the greatest king who had ever lived. Now he needed a good moment to present it to Arthur, and settled on the eve of the fast-approaching battle. 

Fate, however, provided him with a better opportunity, and a coinciding one at that. The morning before Arthur was to ride out, Gwen went into labour. 

It became the most harrowing eight hours so far in Merlin's life. He spent the majority of his time with Gwen, helping the midwife, and from time to time he'd run outside and comfort Arthur. If Merlin was scared and tense, Arthur was a complete wreck. 

'She is all right, isn't she?' he kept asking whenever anyone opened the door. By early afternoon, he took to physically grabbing Merlin and forcing him to talk. 

'Arthur, it's going fine. Stop this. I need to get back to her. I'm no use here.' Merlin took him by the shoulders and shook him.

'I know...' Arthur groaned. 'It's that... I can't... if something happens to her! Merlin, I'll never forgive myself! I finally get what father must've gone through. If she dies...' 

'Arthur.' Merlin took his face in his hands. 'Stop this. She is doing _fine_. You are not Uther, Gwen is not Ygraine. And I... am not Nimueh!' If he didn't stop this soon, Merlin would have to give him something to knock him out for a few hours. 

'But what if she does, Merlin...'

'ARTHUR!' Merlin shook him again. 'Shut up and let go of me! You are NOT HELPING!'

That, thankfully, shocked Arthur enough that he let go. Merlin hurried back into the queen's room and got a servant to send for Gwaine and Leon to keep Arthur company. He made sure to convey that it was an order, not a request. All of the knights had made appearances during the day, but none had been able to stand Arthur for long. 

What Merlin didn't tell anyone, least of all Arthur or Gwen, was that while the queen was doing well, he wasn't sure the baby would survive. It was around a month early by his calculation, and this was a long and exhausting labour. A premature child, small and weak, might not make it. He was worried their possible last chance for an heir would fail again. Even more, he worried what such a loss would do to Gwen and Arthur. Especially when Arthur was about to go to war. 

That was much of the reason for his frenetic energy. He was preparing for the worst, for having to fight for this baby's life the moment it arrived. He, the midwife and her assistant all knew this was probably necessary. Their shared looks spoke volumes. At least Gwen was too focused on the process to notice - and they were all very adept at hiding unpleasant facts from their patients.

Finally, by late afternoon, Gwen's struggles were over. To the extreme relief of everyone, the heir to the throne of Camelot arrived. Tiny, but alive, breathing, whole - and screaming loud enough to prove it. 

'Is that it? What is it? Did I have a boy or a girl?' Gwen struggled to sit up, but was held back by the midwife's assistant.

'It's a boy, my lady,' the midwife told her, her warm smile kind and reassuring, even as she and Merlin looked at the tiny boy and wondered if he'd live the night. 

'A boy!' Gwen laughed, tired but exalted. 'My son...' She laughed again. 'Merlin... please tell Arthur. Can I see him?'

Merlin nodded. 'I'll tell him in a moment,' he promised, working quickly with the midwife's aid to get protection in place, to help the child's chances. He couldn't do much; a life was, when all things were said and done, beyond him to govern. But he could help and he did. 

The midwife wrapped the tiny boy up in clean cloths and took him to the queen. 'He'll need your heat, my lady. He's small. It was early, as you know.'

Gwen nodded, smiling as the child was laid in her arms. 'I know... but he's so perfect, isn't he? My boy...'

'Perfect,' Merlin said and leaned down to kiss Gwen's hair. 'But he needs extra care to get a good start.'

'I'll be staying here for a while, my lady,' the midwife added. 'We will give the prince all we can.'

It was beginning to dawn on Gwen that this was in fact serious and her smile faded. Merlin hated to have to do this to her. 'It's all right, Gwen. He's here. We'll all fight for him. A month early isn't good, but it's not something he should have any adverse effects from. As long as we are careful.'

She looked from him to the midwife and back again. 'I'll do anything. Anything, Merlin.' She caught his eyes and he nodded, very aware of what he meant. She was about to ask something he couldn't and wouldn't give, so he broke contact.

'I'll go get Arthur,' he said. 'He was so worried for you.'

Explaining things to Arthur was easier. Merlin got him to sit down first, and he was so relieved that Gwen had made it through all right that the impact of his son still being at risk was lessened. This was doubly good, because when Merlin brought him in, he was all smiles. He kissed Gwen before even looking at his son.

'He's perfect,' Arthur told Gwen when she made him look at their child. 'Just perfect.' He stroked the baby’s cheek with a finger, so gentle Merlin felt a tug at his heartstrings. 'Thank you, Guinevere.' He kissed her again. 'You've... given me something so precious...'

Merlin left them then, slipping out quietly along with the midwife. Later, he found out just how happy Arthur was when he came to Merlin's bedroom.

. . .

Thus, the new scabbard for Excalibur became Merlin's gift to Arthur, celebrating the birth of his son. He gave it to Arthur the morning after, before they all rode out towards the army camp. It wasn’t the only gift to be given that day. The announcement of the prince’s birth had been given that very morning as well, and Camelot’s kitchens were turning out sweet cakes for the entire town. 

Merlin was joining the army this time, but he wanted to present the gift at a quiet moment; it had to be personal. To his relief, Arthur didn't suspect anything. Instead he was very impressed with the work put into the scabbard. Even more so when Merlin told him he'd made the decorations himself. That, and the fact that it was now linked to the birth of his heir, meant that Merlin was now very sure Arthur would never let that scabbard leave his side.

He also made sure to check on Gwen before they rode out. She was doing fine, recovering well, and the midwife had everything in hand. The small child had thankfully taken well to eating, so there were grounds for optimism. He also made sure that they knew how to find him quickly if he was needed to help the infant prince. Leaving now was difficult, but it looked like he was doing well, and in the light of that, Merlin thought Arthur needed him more.

Leaving the town, Merlin could see what the news of the birth of a prince had meant for the people of Camelot. The cheers for them as they rode out were far louder and more enthusiastic than the last weeks of dark moods called for. The people had regained some faith in the future. Their king was happy and hopeful too. It was a good way to meet a battle like the one awaiting them.

They met the gathered forces from the areas around Camelot half a day's ride to the east. The Albion army was camped out on a hilltop, known to the locals as Badon; it was steep enough to give them a good look over the area and easily defensible. Below was a wide stretch of grassy field, beyond that a line of trees, and behind those the enemy camp, about a mile further east.

Arthur and his leading knights spent the evening preparing the battle. Merlin spent it setting up a station to tend the wounded. It was always an unpleasant task, but it would save lives in the end. There were several good medics here, but Merlin knew they'd accomplish far more if they helped each other and worked together. Merlin's biggest job was to make sure they did rather than let old rivalries get in the way.

At least Merlin got to spend the night with Arthur. Which was well and good, because he was always tense the evening before a battle. Merlin could at least calm him and help him get some rest.

'I will win tomorrow, Merlin,' Arthur said, lying on his bedroll, arms behind his head. 'I have to. So much is riding on it.' The worried crease in his forehead was deeper than ever.

Merlin rolled to his side, propped himself up on one elbow. He ran a finger over Arthur's forehead, smoothing that crease. 'You will, my love,' he whispered. 'For Camelot. For your son.'

Arthur met his eyes. 'Yes. For my son.' He smiled softly. 'My son.' He reached up, a hand on the back of Merlin's neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. 'I have a son, Merlin. A son...'

'Yes.' Merlin smiled back at him. 'And more to fight for than ever. So I know you'll win.'

. . .

The battle was so different from the last one Merlin had seen that it was hard to understand. The scale was huge. The entire field filled with people, and the sounds were so loud he could hear them even when he flew high in his crow form, scouting for Arthur. It took less than four hours before the Saxons began to fall back, slowly, finally breaking off entirely when they reached the line of trees. 

For a moment, Merlin worried that they would fall into an ambush there. He couldn't see what was hiding in the thick vegetation, but his fears proved groundless. Arthur called off the attack rather than pressing into the woods. It was a both clever and gracious choice. It would put him in a good position to negotiate, not to mention the enemy soldiers would respect a man who didn't have them struck down from behind. 

Merlin landed safely as the forces began to pull back towards the hilltop. He spoke briefly to Gwaine and Bors while Arthur was busy, letting them know what he'd seen, and then headed over to help with the wounded men. He felt an immense relief that this had gone so well, but he kept having a nagging feeling he couldn't place. A feeling that kept haunting him as he worked well into the evening.

It was dark before he made his way back to Arthur's tent, tired and with blood all over his clothes. He dearly hoped there would be water to wash in or he'd have to find the stream somewhere behind the hill, which wouldn't be easy in the dark.

He forgot how tired he was the moment he entered the tent. Arthur was standing by the basin, his recently discarded shirt next to him, and blood was trickling from a wound in his left shoulder. 

'Arthur!' Merlin dropped his bag and rushed to him. 'You're injured! How could you walk around all day with this! You should've come to me immediately!' He spun Arthur around and pushed him into a chair. 'You know better than this! By the heavens, Arthur... Stay put, I'll be right back.' 

Darkness or not, he needed more clean water now, so Merlin headed off in search of a fire with a kettle on it. He found one not too far away and begged a jug of hot water. Arthur hadn't moved when he returned, but was regarding him with a slightly amused look as he entered.

'It's not funny,' Merlin informed him. 'You are hurt. Hardly a laughing matter, especially when you need to be fit again. The next battle won't wait for you.' That wiped the smile off Arthur's face, at least momentarily.

'Merlin...' He looked up at Merlin, fingers playing with the hem of Merlin's tunic. 'It's not a bad wound. I knew that. It was hardly bleeding.'

'Well, that's very lucky,' Merlin said. He was about to say it looked like it should have when he remembered just why it hadn't. The scabbard. His hard work had paid off. A slow smile spread across his face. 'In fact, you are the luckiest sod in Albion right now. There's hardly a scratch on you, and the one hit you've taken is not bad.' A white lie, and he’d add a bit of that precious magic when he dressed the wound, help it heal as fast as Arthur would expect.

Arthur slid his fingers up under Merlin's shirt. 'Not now, Arthur,' Merlin muttered, concentrating on the task, but the fingers didn't pull away.

'I am. Very lucky,' Arthur said softly. He sat still while Merlin fixed a bandage to his shoulder, winding strips of cloth around his chest to keep it in place. The moment he could, Arthur pushed Merlin's shirt up again and ran fingers along his ribs.

Merlin batted his hand away, but kissed him softly. 'I'm filthy. Not now.' 

Arthur stood up, rolled his shoulder to test the bandage. He seemed fine, much to Merlin's relief. 'Well, how about you clean up a bit... and join me...' 

Merlin rolled his eyes at him. 'You'd think you were still a youth the way you carry on,' he scolded, though there was no real bite to his voice. He loved Arthur like this, in moments of optimism and joy. The elation of a victory, the joy of being alive, before the toll of lost lives took hold. 'Make some tea from the little blue bag in my medicine bag,' Merlin said. 'It will help you heal fast and rest without too much pain tonight. I'll wash while you do.'

'As you wish, Sir Merlin,' Arthur teased, giving him a small bow. He was still wearing the sword and scabbard, Merlin noticed. It was probably a good thing, at least for now. So he returned Arthur's smile. 

'See that you do, young man,' he shot back and began to peel off his dirty clothes and wash himself as best he could with what they had. Thankfully, someone had supplied Arthur with an extra bucket of water, which meant that Merlin could at least get reasonably clean. 

He turned to see Arthur sitting at his table, cup of tea in his hand, and looking at him with unabashed lust in his eyes. Merlin became very aware of his body, of his nudity, of how wonderful - and arousing - it was to have a look like that directed at him. 

'You're staring,' he informed Arthur, his voice soft and surprisingly husky.

'So I am.' Arthur's tone was nonchalant, but there was a velvet quality to it. He downed the rest of his tea and stood up. 'I happen to like what I see. Like it very much.' 

He was next to Merlin in three steps and pulled him into a hard, demanding kiss. Merlin could feel Arthur's arousal against him, knew he'd be nigh unstoppable now, riding on the high of battle. Merlin felt a jolt of lust run through him when Arthur kissed him again. This time he kissed back as hard as Arthur did. Let the blood and wounds and pain be washed away in a rush of pleasure. 

'I want you,' Arthur whispered, the words harsh in Merlin's ear. 'Please.'

Merlin nodded. 'Yes. Yes, Arthur.' A need he hadn't known was there was building in him. Arthur wasn't the only one who had reason to want release. 'How?'

'Don't care. Just. Now.' Arthur's hands were on Merlin's arse, his mouth working over his neck, lips nipping at him right on the edge of pain where Merlin could only press against him and groan in response.

He looked around, already on edge of desperation, and knew. 'Table. Let go. Have to move,' he muttered and Arthur let go long enough for Merlin to bend over the table and spread his legs. 'Oil's in my bag too,' he said. Arthur fumbled for a few moments, then he was behind Merlin, fingers already pushing and probing. 

Merlin groaned. He changed his position and leaned on one hand, the other closing around his cock. 'Arthur,' he mumbled. 'Just do it.'

Arthur didn't need to be told again. Merlin heard his deep groan the second he felt the push of his cock. It would be fast. They both needed that. Arthur's hands were on his hips, thrusts already quick. Merlin's hand flew over his cock. It was all he could do to keep his balance.

Arthur groaned softly with his thrusts and Merlin could feel his own orgasm. It wasn't as much building as it was rushing towards him like a tidal wave. The feeling of Arthur in him was all he wanted right now, was all he could imagine wanting. This moment was perfect. 

'Arthur,' he gasped. 'Ah. I- AH!' The wave washed over him and he shook, fighting to stay on his feet, eyes swimming and ears buzzing with the feeling. Arthur was still moving and it felt fantastic still. Merlin reached back, pulling him in deeper, clenching to get more of that amazing cock. 

'Merlin.' Arthur thrust in deep and stilled and Merlin could feel him shudder, could feel Arthur come and his toes curled knowing it was him that did this to Arthur.


	7. Lancelot and Guinevere

The return to Camelot was very different this time. There were cheers and happiness, pride and celebration. Yes, they had lost men and tears were inevitable, but Camelot had prevailed. The Saxons were gone from the southwest. For now.

As much as Merlin liked to see all the happy faces, he knew very well it might be a short-lived victory. The forces to the east and north hadn't fared as well. They'd received a message from Lancelot detailing what was more like a draw. Both sides had suffered losses, but the Saxons were already regrouping. A letter to Merlin from a contact in the area explained how they would have lost had it not been for Lancelot's clever tactics. As it were, it was only a matter of time before there would be another battle. To the east, the vassal states had lost and were overrun. The losses were a strategic disaster. It already looked like the end of the united Albion.

Had it not been for Gwen and the baby, Merlin thought they might all have succumbed to despair. But there was a child, a tiny little thing, and he was life and hope and future. It was what Merlin mentally clung to and what he could see Arthur place more and more of his faith in. It was as if Arthur had an unshakable certainty that they would come out on top again because he had a son now. It was such a miracle that others were bound to follow.

Whenever anyone was unsure of where to find the king, they would knock on the door to the nursery. Most of the time, that would be where Arthur was, often simply holding the infant boy in his arms. 

Merlin found him there a few days after their return, late in the evening. Gwen was asleep on the bed and Arthur was walking around the room, carrying his son.

'Shh,' Arthur warned as Merlin entered. 'Trying to get him to sleep.'

Merlin nodded and stood quietly by as Arthur walked. The little boy, sporting an impressive amount of black hair, was looking up at his father with wide, dark eyes. He had a sense of wonder about him that Merlin thought was probably just the way he looked, but made him seem as if he was marvelling at whatever he looked at. At the moment, that was Arthur. It was a wonderful sight and Merlin could feel a tightness in his chest, a love for both Arthur and the boy that was overwhelming.

'Have you found a name for him yet?' he asked, keeping his voice soft. Arthur and Gwen had discussed it since their return, but so far hadn't been able to settle on anything other than not naming him for their fathers.

Arthur shot him a grin and nodded. 'Yes. Finally.' He looked at the baby with an unexpected softness. Even Merlin had never seen such a look on his face before. 

'And?' Merlin smiled. 'I can't believe you're teasing me about this.'

'Bran.' Arthur's smile was directed at Merlin now. 'For his black hair.'

Merlin nodded, smiling too. 'It's a good name. Strong. Bran Pendragon, the raven who bested the dragon. He will do great things.'

Arthur beamed at him. 'He will.' The boy was sleeping now and Arthur carried him back to the crib, pulled a blanket over the sleeping Gwen before leading Merlin out of the room. 'Did you have any special reason to seek me out?' he asked.

Merlin nodded. 'Lancelot is back.'

. . . 

Arthur and the knights were struggling to find ways to counter the ongoing invasion. There were countless meetings of the round table, hundreds of suggestions, and far too many were rejected or impossible. Meanwhile, Merlin had some hard decisions of his own to make. The first was to share with the round table what he knew of Morgana and Aithusa. At this stage, with a probably deciding battle fast approaching, they had to be prepared for the possible threat of a dragon. It was news he wished he never had to bear. If, perhaps, things had been different, if he had had time, he would have sought out the pair and dealt with them. He’d always thought they would be his to deal with, but now it was too late for that. Adding to the burden of the knights and the army like this was not what he had wanted, and the fact that they were all gracious and stoic about it, to the point of thanking him, only made it worse.

Second, he had to go back to the cave. Not only did he, again, need more information, but he had to find out if he’d been successful in staving off Arthur’s death. Yet, as much as it was necessary to go there, to see it again, he was loath to do it.

As he stood at the entrance to the cave, his heart was racing, beating so hard he could hear it like a dull thump in his ears. It drowned out the birds around him, and his fear made the sun feel distant and cold, even on a hot summer night like this. Merlin licked his lips. He'd done a lot. It would be all right to go in and see now. The scabbard worked, he knew that. Bran had been born, was alive and well. What he needed to know more about was Morgana and Aithusa. That was what he'd see when he came in. It had to be. And he'd see Arthur, living, surviving. If he saw death, it would be in Arthur's old age. It was the only way it could be. Slowly, hesitant to a degree he hadn't been in years, Merlin entered the cave. 

The onslaught was immediate. Again he saw himself and Morgana, the shouts, his own anger; to his shock he was a young man now, only a faded image of his older self lay behind the clear one of his present look. Merlin leaned against the wall, fear gripping his throat, making it hard to breathe. Arthur. He could see him now, from afar, could see the sword strike. Close up now, Arthur's face... oh god... his face... There was no trace of age. This was now and it was clearer than ever! The image continued this time, and Merlin forced himself to stay, to watch though he wanted to flee or throw up or hide. 

'Mordred!' He realised he'd said it out loud when the echo of the cave threw it back at him. Mordred with a bloody sword. Arthur's blood. Mordred... Mordred would have to die. This was Merlin's doing for not letting him die as a child. This was his mistake to fix. Merlin clenched his fists, driving his nails into his palms so hard he thought he might have drawn blood. Stay now. He had to stay. See all there was.

The vision shifted. He saw a glimpse of Avalon and then a quick series of flashes. Two dragons in the sky, plummeting. Morgana running, looking back in fear. Mordred dead by a lake. Gwen walking out of Camelot alone, crying. Himself cradling Bran in his arms. Then he was back at the battlefield once more and he turned and left, as quickly as his shaking legs would allow. He was not seeing that again. Not ever! Not if he could help it and he would! He would do whatever it took. Anything at all.

. . .

There was no doubt for Merlin what he'd have to do. It was time to seek out Mordred and Morgana and put an end to their plans. Which meant putting an end to them. He had not wanted to; he knew it was his feelings and his guilt that got in the way. He had killed plenty of other people now, to keep Arthur safe, to help Camelot, but not those two. Not the people he should have disposed of first and foremost. But first, he would talk to Kilgarrah once more. 

His plan to call the dragon that same evening was foiled by an event he had not thought he would experience. The moment he walked into Arthur's study he knew something was wrong.

'Arthur, we need to-' Merlin stopped, trying to take in the scene in front of him. Arthur was standing behind his desk, and he had pain written all over his face, the kind Merlin had not seen since Uther died. In the room with them were Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen. They all looked terrible, stricken even. 'What's...'

'Close the door. Please.' Arthur's voice was strained, fighting to hold something back. Merlin shut the door. 'It's actually good you are here. I might need your help.' Merlin was puzzled, looking between all of them, no clues anywhere. 'Someone tell him,' Arthur said and turned away.

'It's this idiot,' Gwaine said, nodding towards Lancelot. 'He did it again.' He nudged Lancelot for good measure. 

'Did what?' Merlin looked around, confused enough that the events in the cave were fading fast. 'What happened?'

'It's my fault.' Gwen was crying. Merlin spun, instinctively wanting to comfort her.

'Don't you touch her!' Arthur snapped. 'No-one! At all!' Merlin turned to look at him and he'd turned back towards them, his eyes blazing with rage. 'There's been more than enough of _that_!'

'Oh. No.' Merlin understood. Far too well. 'No...' He looked back at Gwen. 'Please tell me this is all a misunderstanding. Gwen...' She was looking down, not meeting his eyes. He tried Lancelot. 'Please. You can't have been that stupid! You were told you were back to fail or succeed on your own merit. Was that really all it took? Do you fail that easily?!?' He was angry now as well.

Lancelot straightened and met Merlin's eyes. 'I do not consider this a failure.' He looked as he was about to slip his arm around Gwen, but thought better of it. With the way Arthur looked, Merlin didn't blame him. He was ready to run them through by the look of it. 'I... I have always loved her. Maybe this is what I came back for. For love.'

Gwen still didn't react, save for a quiet sob. 'Is that it, Gwen? After all...' Merlin could feel his own voice starting to fail him. 'After all we've shared, fought for. After Bran! Gwen... Gwen...' 

'It's no use.' Arthur's fist slammed down on his desk. 'This is the end. No more!' He stomped around the desk, straight to Lancelot, glaring at him. 'You. Are banished. For good. Off these islands. I don't care where you go, but you will not set foot here again!' He turned to Gwen and Merlin could see how close he was to breaking. 'You...' He paused, eyes closing, jaw working as he tried to keep from crying. 'You... I don't want to see you again. You're staying till Bran is old enough to survive without you. Then you leave as well. My son stays. If he is my son.' 

'Arthur...' Gwen finally looked up, tears streaking her face. 'Don't. I... not Bran... please.' 

'You've made your choice.' Arthur turned away, back to all of them. 'All of you get out. Now!' 

'Arthur.' Merlin wasn't about to let it go that soon. Not when so much of their collective hope for the future depended on the unity of the royal family. 'This is too rash. You need to stop and think.'

'You don't tell me what to do!' All of Arthur's rage hit Merlin. It wasn't fair, but Merlin knew that right now he provided a safe place to direct it. Somewhere Arthur felt safe to let go. Merlin could be that, could break the storm for him.

'I don't. But I'm not letting you do this. Not like this.' Merlin met his eyes, stern. 'We will talk later.' He turned to the others. 'Gwen, you have somewhere to be. Lancelot, you go to that hut I showed you. I'll see you soon.' Lancelot looked like he was about to protest, but clearly saw the sense in Merlin's directions. It was a respite, a place to go that wasn't banishment yet. By the look he sent Gwen, Merlin thought he was mostly worried about leaving her.

'When the hell did this even have time to happen?' he asked Gwen as soon as they were out of Arthur's study. Lancelot was about to say something, but Merlin cut him off. 'I'll talk to you tomorrow. You have to get out of here. Now.' He looked at Gwaine and Leon. 'Can I trust you two to see him safely out of the city?'

Gwaine nodded. 'It's a promise. Besides, Arthur doesn't want him dead. No-one will hurt him.'

'Even though we might want to kick his arse,' Leon added with a glare in Lancelot's direction. 'But yes, you can count on us, Merlin.'

'Good. Thanks.' Merlin really didn't need any more problems right now. He had to talk to Gwen. That took priority. He led her back towards her rooms while Gwaine and Leon went down to the stables with Lancelot. He knew very well that Gwen had wanted to say goodbye, but he was not in the mood to let any of them have that comfort. He supposed that made him a bastard, but he honestly didn't care. He had some right to be angry as well, he felt.

'So. What happened and how the hell did it?' he asked again when the door closed behind them. Gwen's maid left the second she caught a glimpse of Merlin's face. He didn't blame her. Thank goodness Bran was asleep in the nursery.

'I... I don't really know...' Gwen sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, face hidden in her hands. 'Oh, Merlin... I don't know. It just... it did.'

'That's not good enough. What were you _thinking_?'

'I wasn't.' She was crying again, he could tell. 'I wasn't thinking. I don't know. We spoke a few times when he first came back. Then again after her returned from the north.' She looked up at Merlin, tears streaking her face and despite his anger, he wanted to hold her. 'I loved him once. And... you know how much I care for Arthur, but it's never been the same.'

Merlin's lips tightened. He'd always known that, on some level, but they had all been content anyway. They had made sacrifices, Gwen, Arthur and himself, to make their lives work, to make the kingdom great. Now the kingdom was falling apart, perhaps that was why their relations were as well. 

'Do you love him still?' he asked.

She nodded. 'I think I do. But... but I can't leave Bran. Merlin, you have to talk to Arthur! I'll do anything. I don't care if it's a loveless life, I can't leave my son behind. Please, Merlin, please.'

Despite his better judgement, Merlin nodded. He was afraid this might be more than he could do. 'I'll try, Gwen. I will promise that much. But this is Arthur. And no matter what has been going on with all of us, he does love you. He doesn't take betrayal well.'

She gave a soft sob and crumbled, curling up on the bed. 'I know. Oh god... how did we end up here, Merlin?'

'I don't know...' He sat down next to her and stroked her hair. 'For love and the good of everyone, I suppose. And now.... now it's mostly for love and the good of ourselves, I'm afraid.' It might seem selfish of Arthur to have monopolised both him and Gwen, but in reality, he hadn't had much good from it. Instead he'd had an absent lover and a wife that cared for him, but wasn't truly devoted. For Gwen it had been a life where she could do a lot of good, with a man who was good and kind and loved her, but without that kind of passion herself. Merlin himself had the passion, but none of the closeness he'd dreamt of as a young man; instead there was secrecy and stolen moments. 'Gwen... how far did it go?'

'Only kisses.' She looked at him for a second. 'I wouldn't go beyond that. You know that!'

'Do I? But even more so, does Arthur?'

She swallowed. 'I... hope so.'

'So do I.'

. . .

His conversation with Lancelot the following day didn't lead to anything new. He confirmed what Gwen had said, and repeated that he hadn't intended for this to happen, but had no regrets. Merlin could only ask him why that was, when this might very well lead to he and Gwen both spending their lives alone and banished. Lancelot seemed convinced they would find their way to each other, even across an ocean, even when Gwen would want to stay near her child and Lancelot wouldn't be able to set foot on this land. Merlin truly wondered if he had lost his mind somewhere in that bright world he described.

Only a few days ago, Merlin had thought that they could at least depend on Gwen and Bran to draw strength from. Now Gwen was as good as gone and Arthur was doubting his son's legitimacy. How the hell did they go on from this? 

It wasn't till he was alone, deep in the forest, that Merlin allowed himself to feel the rage that had boiled in him for a full day now. He screamed and trees fell. He lashed out, blindly, and birds dropped from the sky, and he felt no remorse for their useless death. How could they do this to him? How could Lancelot repay his trust with betrayal? How could Gwen let them down when so much was riding on her too? He ran then. Ran till he fell and tumbled, rolled, slid several yards down a slope. Bruised and muddied, he could stop his rampage, and fresh tears burned hot on his cheeks. 

The worst part was that he'd still have to try to convince Arthur to forgive them. At the very least, Gwen. He'd also have to find a way to prove Bran's heritage. No matter what else happened, he could not allow that to be in doubt. In this, even Arthur's feelings were subordinate.

That was not the case a few hours later when they discussed what to do about Gwen and Lancelot. There Arthur's feelings mattered a lot, more than he should probably allow them to. 

'I am not changing my mind, Merlin,' Arthur responded as soon as Merlin opened his mouth about the issue. 'As far as I'm concerned, they've both betrayed their king and should be executed.'

Merlin felt a sharp chill. Arthur had not said anything like that in many, many years, and the vengeful glint in his eyes reminded Merlin vividly of Uther. It was like a stab of ice in his gut to see that expression on Arthur’s face.

'Arthur. You don't mean that.' Merlin knew Arthur wasn't ready for comfort yet. He hadn't been able to see him since they'd all left his study the previous day. It was clear that Arthur hadn't slept and Merlin was sure he'd been crying. 

'Don't I?' Arthur's voice was cold and hard, as if he was channelling Excalibur. 'I am well within my right. It is me they've betrayed, and as their king they have put their lives in my hands by that act.'

'You are. But you will never forgive yourself if you hurt Gwen.' Merlin knew that beyond any doubt, and the way Arthur's face crumbled for a moment proved it.

'I want her dead!' he yelled. 'I want her gone! I don't want to ever see her again!' His eyes were wild, burning, but Merlin could see the glassy look too, could tell how close to tears Arthur was beneath the mask of rage.

'Arthur...' He closed the distance between them and pulled him close. 'Arthur. You stupid man. It won't help. It'll only hurt more.'

'It can't,' Arthur muttered against Merlin's shoulder. A damp spot was already forming where his eyes were hidden. 'It already does.'

Merlin sighed, stroking his hair. 'Maybe we brought this on ourselves,' he said, carefully choosing his words to include himself - and Gwen in way. 'Maybe we asked too much, thought we could really do it all, the three of us. Be enough for each other.'

'We were. Until _he_ came back.' Arthur had at least accepted the closeness, but he was still struggling to keep control of himself, despite the tears.

'Maybe we weren't for her,' Merlin said. 'But I do wish she'd told us instead. We could've... worked something out... Now it's all terribly public and we can't fix it.'

That was it for Arthur. Merlin felt him slip just in time and caught him, held on tight, while sobs shook Arthur so hard he couldn't stay on his feet. 

Somehow Merlin got them onto a settee without falling, and he hugged Arthur as tight as he could. It was several minutes before Arthur was able to speak again. 

'I wish so too,' he muttered, and Merlin was relieved to know he at least accepted that perhaps Gwen had her reasons to need more than just Arthur. More than a man who was divided between a kingdom, a wife and a lover. 

'So you won't do anything stupid, will you?'

Merlin could feel the soft shake of Arthur's head where it was still pressed against his chest. 'I won't. But she has to go. Lancelot can get the hell out of Albion. But he can tell Gwen where he's going if he wants. I won't stop her from joining him when Bran is old enough to be given to a nanny.'

Merlin swallowed. It was harsh. He wasn't sure Gwen would prefer this to death. 'Arthur... He's her son too. Is it really fair? A child needs more than one parent. Both you and I know that. Do you really think your son will grow up to love you if he knows you sent his mother away?'

'I don't care.' Arthur sounded petulant and defensive, so Merlin let it go. He knew him well enough to know they wouldn't get any further right now, but that Arthur would think about what Merlin had said. The priority right now was comfort.

. . .

To Merlin's relief, Arthur didn't immediately act against either Lancelot or Guinevere. He let his wife stay in the castle, but avoided her at all costs and only went to visit his son when she was not in the room. As for Lancelot, he simply didn't mention it for several days. When he finally did, it was only to let Merlin know that he could stay in the woods for now because Arthur didn't want to risk him aiding their enemies. 

The worst part of this was the effect it had on everyone around them. Of course, the story became well known in a matter of hours; in days it was heard all over the kingdom of Camelot and in a week in all of Albion. 

Merlin felt it in the castle, where voices were subdued and faces sad, some hopeless. In town, too, where conversations were whispered and soft and stopped as soon as a member of the court was around. Always with headshakes and sad looks. The impact on morale was devastating.

In the midst of this spirit of betrayal and pain, the knights were planning a battle to end the war. It was born of the mood of the day, of the knowledge of three armies closing in on Camelot, killing on their way. Soon they would be near and Camelot would ride out to meet them.

Messengers were busy flitting back and forth to everyone close enough to join, and to the credit of Albion, all who could answer came. 

Within two weeks, a massive army was camped on the twin hills half a day from Camelot proper, as far east as it was practical to go with this amount of people. They would also have to be able to retreat to the city if need be. 

The enemy was invited, and the wait began. Five days after the last people arrived, armed with whatever they could find, the Saxons were seen. A day later, they were camped across the valley.


	8. The Gates of Avalon

Merlin stood on the hill and watched the many, many fires across the valley where the Saxons were camped. They lit up a vast area, much like the stars were scattered across the heavens above him. He felt a profound unease at the sight, a big knot in his stomach. More and more, he too was wavering in his hope for the future. He'd taken another trip to the crystal cave, and it had shown him nothing but Arthur being struck down, again and again and again. By Mordred, with Morgana in the background. Yet, he'd still seen neither of them and his network had no word of them, nor of Aithusa. 

Merlin took off as a raven. He didn't have to go far, but he detoured over the Saxon camp. The numerous fires were all populated by several figures. There had to be thousands of people there. The Saxons must have picked up local people as they went along, and Merlin wondered if they had come along voluntarily or to spare their families and villages. That Arthur would never do such a thing was less of a comfort right now than it usually was.

He spiralled higher and set off in the direction of the darkest woods. This was a time for all the help they could get. Even though it might cost them all dear.

'DRAGON.' Merlin's voice commanded the second he landed, the desperation unhidden. 

'Easy, dragonlord,' Kilgarrah huffed only moments after. 'I was nearby. I know the tide of destiny when I see it. It's my time too.'

'What do you mean?' Merlin demanded. 'And where the hell is Aithusa? What is Morgana doing? Tell me the whole truth of Avalon this time!'

Most times, Kilgarrah would've huffed or even laughed if Merlin spoke like that. At the very least chided him for youthful impatience or human frailty. This time he did no such thing. The soft huff of breath Merlin felt, blowing his cloak out, was resigned and even sad. 

'I mean that I have a part to play here, Merlin. I know you came here to ask my help. I will give it.'

Merlin blinked in surprise. 'You will? Just like that?' 

'Yes.' The great head nodded solemnly. 'I will. I know your destiny, my friend, and Arthur's too, because it's woven into mine.' He lowered his head, resting it on the grass so his eye was level with Merlin's head. There was a softness to the golden light there that Merlin had never seen before. 'I will tell you all I can at this time. But you must accept that there are things I don't know.'

'I realise that,' Merlin said. 'I... regret my tone.'

'Don't. You are getting desperate. A lesser man would have given up to despair a while ago. That goes for you and Arthur both. Whatever happens, remember this, Merlin. You did all you could. More than most ever would have attempted.'

Merlin nodded, and though it was reassurance, the knot in his stomach tightened.

'I don't know where Aithusa or her allies are. They are near, that's all I can tell you. They will be there for the battle. So will I.'

Merlin felt sick. It was time then. Time for desperate measures if he were to change fate. Time for the dragons to fight and perhaps fall. Time for himself and Arthur to face Mordred and Morgana. He stooped forward and was surprised to feel Kilgarrah's snout push against him, helping him keep his balance.

'As for what Morgana is doing, you already know that. She's trying to kill Arthur. She hopes that will give her the throne. So you know where she is, too.'

'With the Saxons.' 

'Of course.' Kilgarrah nodded again. 'Which brings us to your last question. You may want to sit.'

Any other day, Merlin might have refused, but this time he knew he'd need to. The grass was cool and damp, but felt soft and real and familiar against him. It was welcome. 

'Avalon is Arthur's resting place,' Kilgarrah said. 'When he dies, that is where he must go. He will sleep there, at least in spirit, while his body dies. When Albion needs its greatest king again, he will return. Until then, Merlin, you must keep these islands safe. You must do your best. That's all you can and as you've already shown, it is a lot.'

'No...' Merlin shook his head. 'It must be me who dies. It has to be. There's magic, I can trade my life for Arthur's. He's what Albion needs! I can't keep anything going or together!'

'Merlin...' Kilgarrah sounded both surprised and sympathetic. 'Don't you know? You can't trade your life. It's endless. It can't be given away, because it's not yours to give.'

'Wh-what do you mean?' Merlin was shivering, hard.

'You can't die, Merlin. I thought you'd realised by now. All the times you've been close, all the times where you ought to have been killed. All the times you threw all you had in front of Arthur too. You can't die, warlock. Which is why you are truly the last dragonlord. Just as I am the last dragon.'

'No...' Merlin found tears were running down his cheeks. 'No, please say it isn't so.' Losing Arthur would kill him. If he couldn't even find that peace, if he had to go on...

'You must find a way, Merlin. You are Albion's keeper. Young Bran's too. In him you can place your hope.'

'No!' Merlin jumped to his feet, wobbly, steadied himself. 'No. I will find a way. Arthur will live!'

'I hope you do, friend.' Kilgarrah stayed down. 'And if I don't see you again, I wish you a good life. Your path is one of the most difficult there can be, and I wish this burden wasn't yours. So I wish you happiness when you can find it. And remember what I told you about Arthur. You and he will save these lands again. Together.'

Merlin had already changed his shape and was flying, but he heard the words anyway. Ravens didn't cry, but inside his entire being was screaming. He wanted to flee, to grab Arthur and go somewhere else, but that wasn’t the answer. Arthur would never forgive him, would return and fight the moment he got a chance. He was out of options and out of time.

. . .

Merlin woke on the morning of the battle with the previous night’s revelations fresh in him, his stomach in a knot, nauseous. He had been troubled by dreams –   
not prophetic in nature, but stressful, fretful dreams, of blood and steel and fire – and magic. He woke up with a spell on his lips, hand outstretched, but there was still and dark around them, only the vague sounds of the camp was around them, and the soft huff of Arthur's deep, steady breath right next to him.

He couldn't see the king though he was only a few feet away; it was dark in the tent, the moon too weak to give much light, but he could hear him, smell him too when he inched closer to Arthur's bedroll. The proximity calmed him. Arthur was still here. There was hope. Merlin wouldn't stray from Arthur's side today, and would take that blade for him if that was what it took. The thought calmed him a little, and he moved closer, got up on one elbow to look at Arthur as much as he could.

The king seemed so at rest now. Sleep wiped away his worries, and the deep furrow that had appeared in his forehead after Gwen had chosen Lancelot was gone right now. For the first time in a while, Merlin saw him without a look of hurt on his face. Arthur was beautiful. He always was, by anyone's standards, but right now more than ever. Almost otherworldly. The thought gave Merlin a sharp pang. Even this moment of peace was intruded upon by the knowledge that one day, a day getting ever closer, Arthur would fade away on Avalon. Into another world.

Merlin pressed against him, buried his face in the soft, still-golden hair at the back of Arthur's neck. It calmed him again, slowly, but sleep wouldn't return. He was wide awake and his mind circling, racing, trying to plan for the battle tomorrow, for how to keep Arthur safe. He kept returning to Morgana and Aithusa. Why had he not seen them yet? They had been completely absent from any conflict so far. It had to mean they were saving something for a final strike, and all things pointed to that strike falling tomorrow. 

The moon was nearly sinking back into the ground to sleep when Merlin gave up his own pursuit of rest. Instead he slunk out of the tent and walked carefully, slowly, into the night, searching for answers. He didn't know where he should look first, but this was a night that was heavy with potential. Destiny was afoot. Great things were decided by tiny events, by chance, and Merlin went in search of them. 

He made his way between tents and fires burnt down to embers, till he reached the edge of the camp where guards were posted. For a while he stood there, watching them keep watch, and adding his eyes to theirs. 

'Merlin.' The voice was soft, but it was close enough that he jumped in surprise, heart skipping a beat. It was Gwaine, grinning at him when he turned to face him. 'Good to know I can still sneak up on the most powerful warlock of Albion,' he said. 

Merlin shot a grin back at him. Trust Gwaine to make a joke when you needed it most. 'They did say I was good at magic, not at listening,' he pointed out. 

'Yeah, well, you just proved that then.' Gwaine nudged his shoulder against Merlin's. 'What brings you out here?' 

'Couldn't sleep.' Why hide it – it was obvious anyway. 

'I figured. Any reason?'

'Arthur.' Merlin sighed softly. 'I'm worried. About him and about Camelot. Albion, in fact. I don't need to tell you that we're all in deep trouble if something happens tomorrow.'

'If we lose, you mean.'

Merlin nodded. Even now he couldn't voice the fear that Arthur would be killed. Saying it would make the threat far more real.

'I wish I could tell you we won't,' Gwaine said, 'but let me say something else. The knights will protect Arthur. With all we have. All of us.' He gripped Merlin's shoulder. 'You don't have to be right next to him, Merlin, because we will be. You have things to do. Things only you can do. If we're going to have a chance, you need to focus on those.'

'Morgana.' Merlin sighed. Gwaine was very right, and he knew it. It was true about the knights as well. That was what the round table was: a brotherhood. They knew that the real threat was towards Arthur so they would gather around him. Merlin couldn't allow his fear to be what got in their way. If he failed to do his job again, it would mean the end of Camelot. He couldn't make the same mistake twice. It was his feelings that got in the way of killing Mordred many years ago, now they were doing the same but in an opposite way.

'Exactly.' Gwaine made a face. 'I don't like that she's not been seen. It's too conspicuous. Look, Merlin, I know you figured something out back when we captured that Saxon. More details than what you told us in council. Percival won't say, but I'm pretty damn sure it's got to do with Morgana and that dragon. So you _have_ to go. We can't fight a dragon.'

'I know,' Merlin said. 'You've convinced me.' Perhaps there was a chance yet, here on the morning of the battle. Maybe he could finish this, give Camelot an advantage. A tiny trickle of hope ran through him, a strand of the knot in his stomach loosened a fraction.

'Good.' Gwaine nodded. 'I promised Leon and Bors I'd do my best to make you see sense.' He smiled softly and Merlin felt the tip of his ears burn. He'd been so lost in his own way of doing things, wearing blinders and only having a mind for one course of action. In that, he'd forgotten that he had friends and allies. That even without letting anyone in on the details, he could trust the knights to protect Arthur.

'Thanks, Gwaine. I needed to hear those things. I've been... blind.'

'Not blind. You've had too much to do. Merlin, I do see that, you know. How hard you work. Trying to smooth everything out, save people from themselves. But this you don't have to do alone. Okay?' He was squeezing Merlin's arm now, tight, reassuring. 

'I got it.' Merlin smiled and for the first time in a very long time, a small weight lifted from his shoulders, instead of yet another settling there. He had help.

Gwaine nodded. 'Good. Do what you need to do. I'll see you later.' He disappeared again as quietly as he'd arrived. Merlin watched him go, then snuck back towards the tent as Gwaine was absorbed by shadows. 

The sky was lighter now. It had only recently started being completely black at night as the summer was slowly fading towards autumn. Dawn was still several hours away, but Merlin would need a head start. Several of them, perhaps.

It took considerable restraint to not wake Arthur before he left. His heart was aching to kiss him one more time, just in case, while his head battled with the reasoning that he would be back before the army rode out, that he'd be making sure he'd see Arthur well and healthy in the evening. That Arthur would be in worse shape if Merlin woke him. The last one clinched it, and he wrote a note instead, pinned it to Arthur's shirt and slipped away into the night.

. . .

He landed deep in the hills half an hour later and found a good spot to set his trap. Well hidden, protected with spells against the first burst of fire (more than that was impossible, even for him) and a shield against human magic as well. Then he called Aithusa.

Why he'd not thought to do so before, he had no idea. It was so obvious. If the dragon came alone, he could issue orders to her without distraction, could perhaps keep her away long enough that she wouldn't interfere in the fight for Albion. If she came with Morgana, then the two of them could have their fight here and now. He could take her out before she could threaten Arthur. If Mordred came, even better. Merlin would kill him this time, without hesitation. The images from the cave had seen to his motivation.

After a few minutes, he called her again, the command stronger this time. She would not be able to resist, he knew that. He doubted she could have fought the first command either, but she might have been able to slow down. With this repeat, she would come rushing.

The gusts from great wings nearly knocked him over. Aithusa, almost fully grown in size, if not in mental maturity, flew over him, circling as she prepared to land. The noise of the flapping wings was loud, and Merlin, being the dragonlord that he was, had to appreciate the beauty of her.

'Aithusa,' he began. 'Hear me now, and heed my words or I swear you will be dead before the sun rises.'

The dragon laughed softly. 'I think not,' she said. Her wings rustled as she folded them and only then did Merlin realise there was another sound. Behind him. Drowned by wings till now. He barely managed to turn before he was struck by something hard and blunt. He landed on the rocky ground and felt skin scrape. A shape, nearby. Mordred. Using weapons rather than magic. _Fool!_ That thought was the last before he was struck again, this time in the head, and all went black.

. . .

Merlin came to after what couldn't be too long. The sun wasn't up yet. His head ached and he couldn't move. He was still on the ground, and careful attempts to shift told him that he wasn't badly hurt, but he was stiff and it was very difficult to move. He was tied with something stronger than mere ropes, something around his entire body. Why, oh why, had he not thought to guard against weapons? Mordred had been a knight once, he knew weapons! Not to mention that Morgana could be a formidable opponent with a sword as well. He had become single-minded again. Just because he relied chiefly on magic didn't mean that others had to.

He cried out to call for Kilgarrah, but no words came. There was no gag in his mouth, but all sound seemed to die before it could leave him. Very, very clever. He tried to move and it felt like moving in molasses. The harder he struggled, the heavier the air around him seemed, the thicker and stickier it became. Only it wasn't the air, it was magic. He was breathing just fine. But some very strong magic was in place here.

'Ah. He's awake.' Morgana's voice. Merlin tried to move his head, very slowly, without struggling, and managed to turn it enough that he could see a shape in the direction of the voice. 'Don't bother fighting it, Merlin. I've made time itself tighten around you,' she said. 'There's no getting out of this one. You can't speak, nor can you move, so you can't use your powers.'

A small jolt shot through Merlin's heart hearing that, but he was careful to not let it register. Not that anyone could see much in the dark, with the way his movements, even the subtle ones, were slowed to a snail's pace.

'I have been waiting for you to call Aithusa for months. You really are stupid, aren't you Merlin?' she continued. 'You, of all people, should have tried this the moment you discovered I'd flown this beautiful creature.' Her eyes sought Aithusa, and there was a fondness and warmth there that Merlin hadn't seen in her in many, many years. Woman and dragon shared a bond of love and friendship, one that must have started far better than his own with Kilgarrah to be this deep. Yes, he really was stupid. 

'At least you thought to do it before the battle. It would have messed somewhat with my plans had you not.' She stepped closer now and squatted in front of him, looking into his eyes. He'd not been that close to her since they both lived in Camelot and he was Arthur's servant. 'But now, dear Merlin, I shall have free rein. Aithusa will keep your poor old pet at bay. He's got it into his head that he should save Arthur, the poor, deluded fool.' It took Merlin a few moments to realise she was talking about Kilgarrah. 'Meanwhile, I shall help our new friends kill every man who fights for Camelot. Mordred will find the man who needs to die for us to have our kingdom of magic. He will kill Arthur. He's younger and stronger, and he isn't reduced to mere swordplay to get his man.'

Merlin could feel tears burning behind his eyes, born of anger, fear and pain. What she was saying was as terrible as any of his nightmares. She had no honour, no fairness, nothing at all save her blind need for revenge and power. Once, he had agreed with her, but that had stopped when she'd directed her vengeance towards Arthur instead of where it belonged. 

'Aw. Crying for your pet king?' One of his tears had escaped, it was rolling so slowly it felt like something was creeping very slowly down his cheek. 'Yes, I know about your bedchamber shenanigans,' she said, nonchalant. 'I suspect quite a lot of people do, if I am to trust my pet knight.' Her eyes widened in a mockery of remorse. 'Oops. Did I say that out loud? Oh well. Suppose it doesn't matter. You can't tell anyone. You'll lie here till you die of thirst and it will take a very, very long time, Merlin. Because time will be very slow for you.' 

She stood up. 'Mordred.' The young knight came into view from behind Merlin, sword drawn and in his hand. Even now, he feared Merlin. 

'We should kill him,' he said, pointing the sword at Merlin's throat. All Merlin could do was glare.

'No.' Morgana placed a hand on his arm. 'I want him to lie here and know what happens not too far away. If we're lucky, he will be able to hear the battle, maybe even the cries when Arthur falls. He has earned a slow, painful death.'

Mordred clearly didn't like that, but he didn't argue either. Merlin jumped at the chance. He directed his thoughts at Mordred.

 _Do you really not think I'll get free, Mordred? I'm Emrys. You are one of the few who knows what that means._

Mordred, who was already turning away, gave a small start. _You can't fool me. I'm not that easy._

No, he wasn't, but Merlin didn't need that. _But you know who I am. That I won't die here. You haven't told her that, I can tell. So why is that? Do you fancy the throne for your own instead? Are you only using her?_

Mordred spun. 'We need to kill him, Morgana,' he said and the sword was at Merlin's throat now, not just near it. He could feel the cold steel against his skin.

'I said no!' Morgana's anger was clear, but Merlin didn't have time to listen to what he said. He needed that sword now, while it was touching him. Needed it to channel through. If his mind could reach Mordred's through this field of slow time, so could magic. And while he couldn't speak, direct touch would make spell-work easier – and steel was an excellent conduit. 

He drew on his power and on Mordred's too, aided by the sword, and _pulled_. Strong focus, all directed at draining as much of his magic as possible. Mordred was shaking, but from what Merlin could sense of the conversation, he was also angry and scared and wouldn't connect it to touching Merlin. As far as Merlin knew, he was the only sorcerer who used this technique.

When the sword was pulled away, Merlin was shaking too. He concentrated on holding on to the power he possessed now, to wait till the two were gone. Not only had he made it very difficult for Mordred to use magic for the next few hours, he'd also given himself a small chance to escape. Small, but there.

Morgana spoke again, and Merlin heard her through the ringing in his ears, the dizzy feel of magic in his body. "One more thing, Merlin." He managed to open his eyes and see her by Aithusa, ready to mount. "I don't know how you brought Lancelot back, but that certainly backfired." She laughed. "Trust men to mess it all up and think with their cocks. Not that his help today would matter much, no matter how good he is." 

Merlin felt no amusement at the fact that she had got it wrong, but for what it was worth, at least now he was sure Lancelot had in fact returned without Morgana's aid.

The gush of powerful wings hit him again and their overwhelming sound deafened him. Merlin closed his eyes, slowly, but enough to avoid the dust, and held on to his thoughts, his mind, his power. A little while longer. Soon, he could direct this energy. 

The sound died in moments, and Merlin could focus. Mordred's power was rushing through him, like a heady poison in his veins. Too much of it, and he hadn't yet directed it. He’d have to hurry or it would burn him up. Here, unable to move or speak, all he had was the sharpness of his mind. There wasn't even a channel to the world outside his bubble of time. It would be a fight between the overload of power and the need to direct it.

Merlin's lips formed the words, spoke them, unsounding, so slow that they wouldn't make any sense had they been heard. But the power was in the syllables, the sound Merlin knew in his bones, could feel as he spoke. It felt like no time and eons while Merlin spoke the words. He moved himself, inch by agonising inch, towards the boulder he knew he'd fallen next to. If he could touch that, perhaps it would strengthen him. The land itself might aid him, older than the words he spoke, than anything in existence. It would not want to be in the field of time gone wrong, and might help him.

Another struggle to move and Merlin got his right hand on the boulder, dug fingers into cracks and _pushed_. The final letter of the spell left his lips at that moment and he fought to push all of Mordred's power and most of his own into this. Tense, pained moments, spots formed behind his eyelids. Merlin was screaming and couldn't hear it. Nothing. All he'd taken was gone now and still he fought. 

A loud crack rang out and he was pushed forward, gasped and had to catch himself as he rolled down a slope. 

Disoriented, Merlin sat up, blinking furiously. The boulder had given up its life and was split right down the middle, the centre scorched as if by lightning. He wiped his face and only then did it dawn on him that he was free.

A moment of elation made him cry out in victory, but then the cost struck him. He was exhausted. Shaking like a leaf. It was dawn, he could see the sun full over the horizon. The battle would be starting or already going, and he'd accomplished nothing. He'd failed.

Merlin got to his feet, shakily, scrambled up the slope to the now broken boulder. He touched the rock and thanked it, hoping to draw just a fraction of the strength back into himself. It yielded nothing, but took his thanks. As it should be, he supposed. Asking for more was too much.

He allowed himself to sit on the rock for a couple of minutes, breathing, gathering himself. Now it was all about making haste and getting to the field. To Arthur.


	9. Le Morte d'Arthur

The urgency caused Merlin to use the form of a falcon to return to where the camp had been. It was the fastest he'd ever flown under his own power, even in his still-fatigued condition. Any attempt to formulate a plan was foiled by how he had no idea what he'd find. Ideas ran through his mind, from striking Morgana from above to banishing the dragons for good. 

Again and again he cursed himself for falling for Morgana's trick. Really, he should know so much better by now! Especially when so much depended on him. Not just on his magic, but on the fact that he was still the only dragonlord in Albion! He'd let down not only Arthur, but also Gwaine and the rest of the knights. A lot of lives might be lost today because he was a fool.

Had he been able to actually curse himself, he might have done so, though not yet. He could indulge in self-blame when this was over. There wasn't time now. Instead he flew as fast as possible without draining himself further. He let go of all thought and focused on finding the best flight route, pursuing his goal relentlessly until the battlefield came into view.

It was mayhem. It must have been going on for a while already, meaning there had been a dawn attack. He'd lost at least an hour of it while fighting to get free. By the look of it, things were not going well at all. The Saxons were numerous, and even with all they had gathered for Camelot, they outnumbered the Albion army substantially. Bodies were strewn all over the field. From what he could see, the dead were evenly numbered, but that didn't help much. Not when the Saxons started out with more.

The fight had long since broken into disorganised groups and single combat. Every Albion man he could see was hard pressed; many were banded together and surrounded by Saxons. Leon with Tristan and Gaheris, Bors lay dead by their feet. The very realisation that this was all there was left of Camelot's knights was terrible. The knights of the round table. Equal in almost all things, true and strong and good. So few were left. So many of their friends gone. He could see Gwaine, back to back with Percival, holding off ten Saxon men. So few of them. Somewhere down there was a traitor. Merlin hoped he was dead, whoever he was. The soldiers fighting with them were decimated too. So many had been lost over the previous weeks, the last were dying now. Merlin cried out in anguish, and the voice of the falcon sounded over the field.

The sight was almost unbearable. They might still win, he had to believe they could. The knights of the round table were often outnumbered and still won, but Camelot as they had known it, the united kingdom of Albion, would be gone. There were no men left to defend her, keep her fiefs and small kingdoms from bickering and warring. Even Arthur, should he live, would have to start over again.

Should he live. The thought cut through everything else. He had to find Arthur. His sharp eyes scanned the field, searching for his king, his love, while his heart beat so hard it hurt, fear making every move frantic. What if he was too late? Surely, the men would have acknowledged that, wouldn't they? He must be alive if the battle was still on.

A rush of relief hit Merlin the moment he saw Arthur. He was standing almost at the centre of things, Excalibur catching the sun and throwing reflected light around him. It was as if Arthur himself was giving off light, just as he'd brought light to those around him by uniting the kingdoms. Merlin's heart skipped a beat just seeing him there. 

Something caught his eye as he was about to land. In the distance, great shadows were moving. The dragons. Merlin saw them as they rushed towards the battlefield, Aithusa weaving, Kilgarrah rushing to reach her. Flame shot out, died before it hit the ground. Dragons in open fight were the most frightening thing he could have thought of. They made the entire sky their battlefield. Primal fear struck his falcon shape, before the dragonlord in him got it under control. God knew how long they'd been at it. Merlin was about to land and try to call the dragons to order, when he saw something that made him forget even that. Morgana was headed towards where he'd seen Arthur.

He dove quickly, landed nearby. This time it didn't matter who saw; they were past that, so he switched forms without bothering to conceal himself. A sword from a fallen knight lay near Merlin's feet and he picked it up. Even he would fight today, with any means possible.

There wasn't much chance for him to use the sword. Before he had engaged anyone, Morgana came into view, Mordred at her side. Merlin recognised the colour of her cloak, her stance, the shape of Mordred's figure. He'd seen it all before. In the crystal cave. It nearly took his breath away. 

Without thinking he rushed towards them, intent on stopping them, killing if he had to. Years ago, Kilgarrah had told him to kill Mordred to save Arthur. He hadn't and he'd regretted it many times since. Now was the time to put that wrong decision right. 

'Mordred!' Merlin strode towards him, sword raised. 'Mordred, you and I have something to finish! Right now!'

Mordred faced him, a smirk playing around his lips. 'Do we? I'm not so sure... But I know someone else who'd happily take your challenge.'

Morgana looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 'Indeed. Because you and I, Merlin... We have far bigger scores to settle...' If she was shocked to see him, she had schooled her expression to keep it hidden, but Merlin thought he saw a glint of fear in her eyes before the smirk appeared.

Merlin managed to duck in the last second when a spell hurtled towards him. 'You are delusional, Morgana,' he called to her as he countered her attack. 'You were never as slighted as you thought. If you'd ever given us half a chance, we would've helped you. We were friends! You chose to disregard that, not us!'

She laughed, a cold, unpleasant sound. 'My dearest brother was a tool for our father. As for you, I don't believe a word you say. Any chance you had for convincing me you would ever help me you lost when you tried to kill me the first time.' Another spell and Merlin shielded himself, then returned it. A shriek told him he'd been partially successful, so he dared a look around to see where Mordred had disappeared off to. He was nowhere in sight.

Overhead the dragons flew by. Merlin's attention was drawn up towards them. They were locked in battle now. Fire breathing, wings seared, deep gashes from claws or bites tearing their sides. Merlin tried to scream to them to stop, but for the first time ever, there was no reaction.

His focus was drawn back to Morgana when she barraged him with a mix of spells and magically directed missiles. A shield spell took care of the first round, but Merlin could feel the fatigue in him again. Anger had pushed it to the aft before, but now it was returning and in force. 

'You might think so, but I never stopped being your friend. Not until you tried to kill Arthur. I didn't start this, Morgana. You did!' The next volley hit and Merlin had his hands full. He'd have to strike back soon, but he didn't think he could muster the energy. 

'Liar!' she yelled. 'You're as bad as Uther ever was, Merlin. You both think you know better. Think you have all the answers. That your way is the only one. Well, I don't buy that! And now you're finished!'

Merlin barely noticed the movement before he felt something bump against him. He jumped, turning to face his attacker. Mordred's elbow had knocked into his shoulder. He was holding a dagger, meant for Merlin's throat. And just three feet away stood Arthur, Excalibur raised, pointing at Mordred. 

'Stay away from Merlin,' he growled. 'You have already destroyed all I hold dear. You are not getting Merlin as well.'

Where Mordred drew his sword from Merlin couldn't see, but the blade struck and clanged against Excalibur own, the impact so loud his ears were ringing. The two men glared at each other, blows exchanging fast, hard, viciously. 

'Is this what you want, Morgana?' Merlin yelled. He could see the scene in his mind's eye - and he could see it right in front of him. In defeat, he was playing his part. 'Is it? IS IT?!?'

She didn't speak up and he couldn't see her. 'No answer,' Merlin said, searching for her now, sword in one hand, the other outstretched, ready. 'Are you such a coward that you won't even face me now?'

The spells fired at him showed him where to look next. He employed the invisibility spell and within seconds Merlin had grasped Morgana by the arm. He dropped the spell. 'You!' He gave her a shake. 'You stand up and you tell me: how is this going to end? How?!? Do you know what you've done? Even if you win, you've won a kingdom that's dead! Is that what you need?'

If she replied, the answer was lost in the largest wall of noise Merlin had ever heard. Aithusa was screaming. Everyone stopped for a second. The white dragon, near enough that she still seemed huge, was falling from the sky. The world seemed to hold its breath, in terror and honour as she fell. Her beautiful hide was barely white any longer; instead the green of her blood and blackened fire-scorched patches covered her. She was dying. That was her last scream and Merlin yelled in anger and frustration and a deep, overwhelming sadness. With her died the hope of the dragons surviving. The ground shook when she hit it. Searching, he saw Kilgarrah, farther away, barely keeping himself in the air. 

Morgana shot a spell at him, but was disoriented enough that she only grazed him. He spun her around, pointing to Arthur and Mordred, still caught up in their fight, and his anger flared. 'They'll kill each other, Morgana!' Another shake. 'Just like the dragons!' Merlin was sure Kilgarrah wouldn't survive long now, he could all but sense it. 'Is that really what you want? They'll both die! You know that, don't you? You've seen it, just as I have. How can you do that? You better stop this, or I swear I'll stop you myself. If I have to kill you to help Arthur, I won't even hesitate!'

Morgana smirked at him again. 'No, Merlin. You see, unlike you, I don't mind collateral damage. And very unlike you, I don't lie to people about putting them at risk.'

Merlin's mind reacted before he had decided to and Morgana screamed when raw magic, designed only to hurt, shot through her body from Merlin's hands. She went limp and Merlin felt nothing, only vague emptiness as he let go of her and she slumped on the ground. Alive, he knew, but unconscious. He turned to take care of Mordred.

There he saw it, like a dragged-out, slowed down couple of seconds, giving him time to register the full terror of the moment. He'd been scared to his core since Arthur engaged Mordred. Feared that this was the day Kilgarrah's prophecy would come true. A moment ago that fear had eased when Morgana fell. Now it was different. It was no longer a fear. When the sword fell he knew it was that day. 

The wind swept the field, pushed all out of his way, and he was with Arthur before he'd sunk to the ground. Was there to catch him instead, to rise in the wind now swirling around them. The blade cut through the armor at Arthur’s left side, just below the ribs. It went through him. He was watching Arthur die. He didn't even register where Mordred was. Arthur was in his arms, and Merlin directed the wind to Avalon. To Arthur's resting place. It didn't matter that he was exhausted; more than his own power was carrying him now.

In the distance the castle, fated now that its last and greatest king was dying, already seemed to crumble before them. A fog was rising, creeping up the battlements. Merlin knew it for the vision it was. This was a moment when history was formed, the future was shaped. It felt like reality was swirling around him, changing as he moved. Circling the tower was Kilgarrah, using his last strength to call to Merlin. Merlin cried out to him, wordless, and then the dragon was gone. Merlin knew that he would be in the cave, deep beneath Camelot. That he would sleep again, and might never wake up. He, too, might be dying.

Avalon was sinking away from this world. The island was oddly transparent around the edges. It would disappear along with its king, and would be out of reach for anyone of human blood for eons. Until Arthur woke again.

Merlin landed on Avalon and strode into the ruins, carrying Arthur with unnatural ease. He wasn't at all surprised to see a bed. It seemed right that it should be there, and Merlin set the king on it. He knelt beside it, felt over Arthur’s chest, hoping against hope that he could do something. Arthur reached a bloodied hand towards him, smeared Merlin's cheek as he stroked it.

'It's over, isn't it?' he said, his breath short and raspy. His eyes were wide and glassy, and he hadn't spoken before in the minutes it had taken to get here.

Merlin nodded through tears. 'It is. You need to sleep now, my love.' It was all he could do to keep his voice steady.

Arthur tried to move, but gave up. ‘Bran. Take care of him.’ 

As if there was any doubt, Merlin nodded. ‘Of course. I will be honoured to.’ Perhaps he could persuade Gwen to stay in Albion. He would help her. Maybe, in time, he could forgive Lancelot too.

Arthur spoke again, struggling, and Merlin was glued to his lips, to every precious word. 'Will you be here when I wake?' Merlin found his hand, squeezed it, and that made him stop trying to move.

Again, the nod. 'I will. When Albion needs you, you shall wake and we will both be there.' Now, as it happened, he knew this. Just as he knew that it would be centuries till that day came. Prophecy was coming to him in this moment, in this place that was in and out of time at once, two worlds melded, mixed, where future and past was one.

'Good.' Arthur smiled softly, eyes closing now. 'I can't live without you.' For all that he was grateful Arthur wouldn't have to – he never would have – Merlin felt the bitter pain of being the one who'd be left behind. Who had to go on. To live without Arthur.

He leaned down and kissed Arthur, feeling his breath sinking away as he did. This was it. Arthur's hand went limp in his and his body came to rest. He looked at peace, even happy. The last weeks had been so full of pain and trouble. Now he wasn’t hurting any more.

As he lay Excalibur next to the still form of Arthur, he thought about the years ahead. Life without Arthur would be so hard to bear, he couldn't even imagine it yet. But he could endure it. For Arthur, he could do anything, even live countless lifetimes alone. He would be hidden at times; sometimes he would be open and powerful. He would be growing old and young, forsaking his magic, over and over again. It was his punishment. He had not done what he should for Arthur. The ages alone were his to bear for not letting Mordred die back when he should have. For getting trapped and being late. For failing Arthur.

One thing he could do was take his revenge. Merlin stood up. There were tears in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked them away to look down at Arthur, pale and still on the bed. 

'I will avenge you,' he whispered. 'If it's the last thing I do.' If he really couldn’t die, then it wouldn’t be the last no matter what. 

'If I thought I'd fail you by leaving, I'd sit right here and wait,' he said softly. 'But I promise you, I'll see you again. No matter what. And when I do, I want to be able to tell you that I did what I could to punish those who did this to you. To us... to Camelot. That I fulfilled your wish and raised your son to be as great a king as he can.'

Loath to do so, but knowing he had to, Merlin stepped back. Around him the ruins were fading even more, as if years of aging were attacking them at once. The scent of magic was around him again and Merlin knew that the moment he left this place, it would fade for good. He'd never find it again. Arthur would rest here, undisturbed, for all time. Some day he'd return to the world, but if it was from here or not, he didn’t know.

'I love you. Always,' Merlin said. 'I'll see you. Soon.' Probably not, but at least he hoped it would feel that way to Arthur. If Lancelot was right, then time wouldn't feel long where Arthur was now. Merlin could live with his own wait if he knew Arthur was somewhere with no pain or worry or fear. Where he wouldn't miss Merlin the way Merlin already missed him. The way that made it hard to breathe just thinking of leaving this place.

Yet, he did leave. Another few steps and he was outside the ruin. The building looked ghostly now, half in another world, half in this one. Merlin shifted to the form of a raven, and the wind swept him up. The moment his feet left the ground, it, too, began to fade. He heard the haunting sound of the flute and lavender and walnut filled his senses and that was it. The island was no more and no trace remained of it.

Merlin's eyes burned dry with tears he couldn't shed. They would pay. The price would be terrible. It already was.

. . .

Morgana was gone by the time he reached the field again, but Mordred was not. He was lying on the ground next to where Arthur had fallen. A deep wound in his side was bleeding out fast and Merlin could see he was beyond saving, even with magic.

'Merlin.' The young man, druid and knight, friend and enemy, looked up at him with eyes not entirely unlike Arthur's. 'You were right. She's mad. Used me. Us all.'

Merlin, despite his anger, knelt next to him. He was dying, there was no need to hurt him. Instead, he instinctively reached for magic that would ease the pain. 

'I'm sorry,' Mordred gasped. 'Ask Arthur. Warn him. Gwaine. He's hers.' Each word was clearly a struggle. 

It took all Merlin had in him to keep that information from registering. This was something he'd have to deal with. As soon as he was free to. Morgana would have known everything. That was why she hadn't moved earlier; she'd known all they were doing. Anger boiled in him. Gwaine, whom he'd trusted. His friend.

'A spell,' Mordred whispered, lips going blue. 'You must tell him. Arthur. So he'll forgive me.' 

Merlin shook his head. So much to regret, and no comfort. 'It's too late,' he said softly. 'Tell him yourself. Wherever you are going.'

There was true regret in Mordred's eyes and he tried to speak again. The words never came. Merlin closed the now empty eyes and turned away. Morgana would not escape him. He would gather the last of the knights, protect Camelot and keep it for Bran. He would not rest again till he’d taken his revenge on Morgana. Merlin looked up, towards the sky, rapidly darkening. It was time to find Bran. He took off as the rain started.


	10. Epilogue

Arthur had always known. Or at least it felt that way. He'd always known there was something odd going on around him. Like how his parents – who always joked about it – had the names they did and had, as if they were acting out some weird pun (and they were not the kind of people who liked puns), given him and his sister their names. Or how he'd got his nickname before he or his friends were old enough to understand what it meant or how oddly appropriate it was.

The day he found the sword had been when he knew, without a sliver of doubt, who he was. He dug it out of the ground inside some very old ruins on a small island in a lake in Wales. An island no-one seemed the least bit interested in. The second he touched the sword it had all come back to him, kind of like flashbacks. The essence of a lifetime lived. Since then, he’d had two sets of experiences in him. It was jarring, at times. Like how his friend Gwen was so like Guinevere, and how he remembered his sister trying to kill him.

There was, however, always a piece missing. He _knew_ Merlin should have been there. Knew it the way he knew how to wield Excalibur, knew how to ride though he'd never had a single lesson, knew a language no-one spoke. He remembered the promise, clearer than he recalled anything from his last day. The promise that Merlin would be there when he woke up. But he hadn't been and Arthur felt betrayed. There'd been no benign uncle in his childhood, the way books often portrayed it. No suspiciously insisting friends, not even now, at college, where lots of strange people seemed to appear, was there anyone even remotely Merlin-y around. No strange fellow with large eyes and sharp features. Until that night.

It happened at a club. A gay club, at that, because there was no reason not to indulge in bisexuality, like there had been last time around. He didn’t have to hide his attraction. That night, though, was different than usual. Something drew him to a dancefloor where they played music he didn't normally like. Not for dancing at least. Arthur liked it loud, pumping hard, taking over his body and liberating him. Giving him hours of dancing that blocked out every thought in his mind. But this time, on some random, rainy Friday, he stood there while rock music played and wondered what the fuck he was doing.

That was when he saw him. Between the mass of hot, sweaty bodies, many shirtless, through the thick air, heavy with the smell of sweat. The moment he spotted that figure, it all made sense. 'Merlin.' Arthur whispered the word in the dense air where no-one would have heard him even if he'd shouted it. 'Merlin.' 

He was young. Mid-twenties, Arthur's own age, which was surprising, but probably shouldn’t be. Black hair, skinny, all bones and angles, just as he'd been as a young man in Arthur's service. Arthur’s entire body reacted, pulled him towards that familiar figure, excitement making his heart beat fast. Merlin’s eyes were closed, but Arthur knew they'd be large and blue and beautiful. Merlin was only a few steps away, in a matter of seconds he'd hold him again. His Merlin. Once again, his.

**Author's Note:**

> Major character death, semi-canonical, softened by the epilogue.


End file.
